


Above All Shadows Rides the Sun

by TerinAngel



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Gen, More characters to be added, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-04 21:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14602446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerinAngel/pseuds/TerinAngel
Summary: Everything was supposed to be better once the Dawn was returned to Eos. The daemons would be gone, the survivors could rebuild, things were going to be good for the first time in a decade...And then Nyx realized that a certain King of Light was in the Beyond. And he did not agree with that canon.So, what does the ever-loyal Kingsglaive go and do to make sure his Young King would actually rule his kingdom like he was supposed to? He mouths off to the Astrals and gets himself backhanded through the time stream. So now, he has Astrals and Old Kings jabbering in his head, an overprotective group of Kingsglaive watching his every move, and oh, yeah, a King of Light he has to make sure remains alive by the end of the Prophecy.Just his luck, really.





	1. Chapter 0

Nyx cheered with all the other Glaives in the Beyond as the sun began to rise over the horizon, turning and grinning over to where he remembered Lunafreya had been just a second earlier. She had a sorrowful smile on her face, though, which didn’t fit with the occasion. The dawn was back, the world had been saved, why was she looking so sad?

And then he noticed the gathering of Kings behind Lunafreya. With one very specific Young King standing next to her.

Wha- Why was Noctis in the Beyond? Shouldn’t he be alive and ruling his Kingdom? Bringing his people back from the World of Ruin? Nyx knew, now that he was in the Beyond, that Noctis was the King of Light, he was the one to bring back the dawn, but no one really explained how that was supposed to happen. The only ones who should be in the Beyond are those who are-

Dead.

Oh, _fuck_ this canon.

He stormed right past the Old Kings, right past Lunafreya and Noctis, right past the damned Niflheim Chancellor who apparently was the first King of Lucis, and straight up to the gods-damned Astrals themselves. “All right,” he said, foregoing all manner of civility in favor of bluntness. “Which one of you decided that the King of Light had to martyr himself?”

He was fairly certain the entire Beyond went silent at his exclamation.

The Astrals all looked around at each other, before unanimously pointing at Ifrit, who shrugged unrepentantly. “ ** _Guilty as charged. Do you really think I was going to let it be easy for Bahamut’s Champion of Light?_** ”

“Right. You, sir,” Nyx jabbed a finger at Ifrit, “are a dick, and likely going to be no help if you’re anything like your damned Champion in this fight. So, which one of the rest of you do I need to appease to fix this?”

“What?!” the Niflheim Chancellor yelped. “There is nothing to be fixed!”

“As much as I hate it, I have to agree with Ardyn,” Noctis said, his voice showing both his distaste and his incredulousness. “Nyx, what the hell?”

Nyx turned and glared at Noctis. “You, young King, should be down there, ruling! Not martyred and sent into the Beyond without even seeing the Dawn’s return!” He turned back to the stone-silent Astrals and asked, “So again, who do I have to appease to fix this shitty ending?”

“ ** _You do realize what you are asking for, yes?_** ” Shiva asked, a delicate frown forming between her eyebrows. “ ** _To make such a change, someone from the Beyond would have to be sent back, not only to life, but in time. And such a feat has never been attempted before._** ”

“Not to mention I would strongly object!” Ardyn stated dramatically, stepping forward and turning to look incredulously at Nyx. “I like being dead, thank you. I was forbidden from death for so long, I refuse to return to the living once more.”

“Well _I’m_ not going back,” Noctis said. “After everything, I think I deserve a damn rest, not to be thrown headlong back into this shit.”

“ _ **I**_ ** _believe_** ,” Ramuh uttered, “ ** _t_** ** _hat perhaps neither of you will need return._ ** ” The three human souls blinked up at the benevolent Storm God, who was stroking his beard thoughtfully. “ ** _After all, such a change could be made by anyone, and both of you are far too important to the Prophecy to risk so callously on an untested idea. However,_** ” Nyx almost felt uncomfortable with the look Ramuh was giving him then, “ ** _we seem to have a willing volunteer, considering this is young Ulric’s idea._** ”

“ ** _Yet that does not change the fact that we have never allowed someone to return from the Beyond, much less into their own lives like this_** ,” Leviathan hissed. “ ** _The boy may not even be mentally sound enough to change anything beyond the complete destruction of that human city Insomnia and Glauca’s continued reign of terror over Eos. Would it even be wise to attempt such a solution?_** ”

Oh, great. They were literally talking about his mind potentially breaking if they went through this. And while he didn’t care about Ardyn, he did care about Noctis. And since it seemed the rest of the Beyond wasn’t interested in getting involved, that meant the likely sacrifice for this endeavor was going to be Nyx.

Wonderful.

“ ** _We will never know if something is wise if we do not follow through_** ,” Bahamut stated, glancing over at Titan, who shrugged, and at Ramuh, who nodded in agreement. “ ** _Perhaps there is some other way to complete the Prophecy without requiring the King of Light’s death. We never attempted to find one before_** **.** ”

“ ** _Well, I’ll agree to help, if only to see if the human will actually survive the process_** ,” Ifrit said, surprising Nyx and, apparently, a good chunk of the Astrals. The only one who wasn’t surprised was Shiva, who was smiling at Ifrit. “ ** _What? We’ve already seen how this all ends playing by the rules, and I do so love watching the humans try to get themselves out of impossible situations before their ends come to them_** **.** ”

Titan scoffed. “ ** _Of course, that would be your reasoning_** ,” the Archean rumbled.

“ ** _He was like this before the humans annoyed him so, Titan, you know this_** ,” Shiva said, before turning her eyes to regard Nyx. “ ** _Well, Sir Ulric? Would you agree to being the one sent to perform your idea?_** ”

Before Nyx could say anything, Ardyn spoke up once more. “Ah, I vote no. Or at least I want a promise that if you do this you won’t be dragging me back as well later.”

“ ** _You, Accursed, are insane enough without adding future memories on top of everything_** ,” Leviathan grumbled, before she sighed. “ ** _I suppose, if the boy agrees, I shall assist as well_** **.** ”

Nyx opened his mouth, and almost glared when Noctis put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this, Nyx,” Noctis said, blue eyes staring into his own beseechingly. “I’m alright with this outcome, and I’ll see my friends again when they enter the Beyond. You deserve this rest, too."

Nyx knew that, really, he did. Being in the Beyond had been the first time in so long since he had seen his mother and sister, and even longer since he had seen his father. Being able to spend time with them, to learn of how proud and annoyed they were with his actions and antics, was like a dream come true. Except, he didn’t like this, this ending. It was shit, it _felt_ like shit, like some sort of cop-out. And so, Nyx shook his head and smirked at the Young King. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the hero around here, and heroes rarely get any rest.” He turned his gaze away from the almost hurt look on Noctis’s face and nodded his agreement to the Astrals’ plan. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll handle this.”

“ ** _Good. Here’s hoping you survive_ ,**” Bahamut said.

Nyx was thrown back into the time stream and into unconsciousness before he could ask what the Astral meant by that.


	2. A Sleepless Night

1:48 A.M.

The screaming woke Crowe up.

To be honest, the screaming likely woke up most of the damn building. Sadly, it wasn’t that unusual of an occurrence. No Galahdan refugee made it to Insomnia without some nightmare or another haunting them.

It had been a while since  _ Nyx’s _ daemons had made him rouse his neighbors with night terrors, though.

She sighed as the screaming died down, rolling over with every intention of going back to sleep, when it started up again. Only, this time, she sprang up, grabbing the knife she kept by her bed and racing for her fellow Glaive’s apartment across the hall. That wasn’t the scream of a nightmare.

Nyx was in pain.

She didn’t bother stopping to pick the lock, like she might have if she was trying to be polite. Instead she kicked the door in, knife in one hand, fire glowing in the other. Her eyes darted around the apartment, looking for the assailant stupid enough to attack a Kingsglaive in his own home – only to find nothing.

“The fuck, Ulric,” she snapped, fire dying in her palm. “You scared the shit out of –  _ fucking Six!  _ Nyx!”

Nyx was curled up on his bed, holding his left arm, face screwed up in pure agony as he clawed at the cracking,  _ glowing _ lines covering his hand. They  _ lit up _ , and Nyx began screaming again as they began to spread further, seeming to split the skin of his wrist, like something was burning Nyx up from the inside out.

Crowe rushed over, trying to pry his hand away from – from  _ whatever it was _ , only to reel back with a snarl. The fucking shit burned, not like fire, but like acid, biting and caustic, and she looked down at her hand to see red lines that mirrored the glowing ones crawling up Nyx’s arm. “Fucking hell, Nyx,” she hissed as she grabbed one of Nyx’s shirts and raced over to the sink, shoving the tap back and soaking the fabric. Nyx’s screams tapered off again into pained whines and sobs, and Crowe felt like someone was choking her. What the hell was happening to her friend?

As though to mirror her thoughts, Nyx managed a choked gasp. “What is happening to me?” She carefully wrapped the soaked material around his hand, refusing to flinch at every sound of pain the man made. She reached up and put her wrist to his forehead, growling when she felt a fever that rivaled the burning of the strange marks. She couldn’t do this on her own. She needed back up.

She grabbed Nyx’s phone off the charger and dialed Libertus.

And when he didn’t pick up, she dialed again. And again. And  _ again. _

“Come on, Libs,” she snarled as Nyx began screaming again and she tried for the fifth time. “I know you’re off duty, answer your fucking –“

“ _ God’s damn it, Hero, do you have any idea what time it is? You had better be dying, or so help me –“ _

“Libs, something’s wrong with Nyx,” Crowe snapped, shouting herself now to be heard over both Libertus’ annoyance, and Nyx’s pain.

_ “Is that – is that him screaming? What the fuck happened?!” _

“I don’t know. He woke half the building up, and I thought it was just a night terror, but then it sounded like he was getting hurt, so I broke into his apartment, only –“ She took a deep breath. “I have no idea what’s happening to him, Libs. He’s running a fever, and there’s some kind of  _ glowing, burning mark _ crawling up his arm –“

_ “Glowing?” _ She heard shuffling in the background, and a door opening and closing, and the jangling of keys in a lock.  _ “Like magic?” _

“Yeah,” she replied, peeling back the damp shirt to get a better look, and grimacing when she saw that the lines had continued to spread. “It almost looks like Lucian magic, but… I’ve never heard of this happening to another Glaive. Not to anyone, at least not for no reason.”

“ _ Give me fifteen minutes. Make sure he doesn’t die.” _

“I’m a black mage, not the fucking Oracle,” Crowe snapped before hanging up. Nyx convulsed and started screaming again. “Damn it, Nyx,” she sighed as she chilled her hands with ice, resting one against his forehead, and the other over the rapidly warming wet t-shirt.

“Don’t you dare die like this, Hero.”

* * *

2:04 A.M.

Libertus raced past half open doors and curious faces.  He could hear Nyx from three floors away. The only time Libertus had ever heard anything like this from his friend was when his little sister had died, and even that had nothing on the sheer agony in Nyx’s cries.

“Don’t be dead,” he growled under his breath as he took the stairs two at a time in his haste. “Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, Astrals damn me for saying this but  _ keep screaming… _ ”

He skidded onto Nyx’s floor, forced to slow by the people now openly standing and whispering in the hall. “Shouldn’t you all be asleep,” he snapped, shoving past them all until he passed through Nyx’s still open door, slamming it shut once he was in. 

“Libs,” Crowe sighed as Nyx’s screams tapered off. “Thank the fucking Six. Nothing’s working!”

“Let me see how bad it is,” he growled, stepping up to the edge of the bed. Crowe carefully unwound what looked like one of Nyx’s shirts from around his friends left hand, and Libertus cursed. “What the hell  _ is _ that?” The glowing, cracking lines covered Nyx’s hand, crawled up his arm about three inches above his wrist.

“ _ I don’t know, _ ” Crowe snapped, sounding lost in a way she hadn’t in a very long time. “It keeps spreading, and nothing I’ve done has even slowed it down. He’s had some lucid moments, but I use the term lightly. He seems to be under the impression I’m dead, so I’d say he’s probably hallucinating.” She shoved the shirt at him. “Don’t just stand there, get it wet again for me! I can’t touch this shit without it.” Libertus nodded and did as she demanded, returning momentarily with the freshly soaked fabric in hand. 

“What happens if you touch it?” Crowe held up one of her hands for inspection, revealing angry burn lines that reflected the glowing ones on Nyx’s arm. He hissed as Crowe snatched the shirt from him, winding it back around Nyx’s hand. “Poison?” he asked, gut sinking as Crowe shook her head. 

“Grandma brought over one of my antidotes. No effect. It’s like he’s having a bad reaction to the King’s magic, like some of Baby Glaives do when they first start, only a thousand times worse. I think… I think we need to get him to the Citadel.”

Libertus cursed again, fumbling for his phone. “I’m calling the emergency line.” 

“You’re kidding me! Crownsguard,” Crowe snarled, forcing Nyx’s still good hand down. “Stay still Hero,” she snapped, “the last thing we need is you making this worse by pawing at it.” 

“We can’t just haul him through the streets like this! So yes, fucking Crownsguard,” he snapped, already dialing. The phone barely rang twice before someone answered. 

“ _ Crownsguard emergency line _ .”

“Monica,” Libertus sighed, “Thank the fucking Astrals.”

“ _ SIr Ostium? What’s the problem? _ ”

“It’s Nyx. He’s… we’re not sure what’s wrong, honestly. He just woke up screaming, and he’s got this glowing stuff burning its way up his arm. Crowe thinks it has something to do with Lucian magic. Nothing she’s done has slowed it down, and we can’t get him to the Citadel ourselves like this.”

“ _ I’m sending two Crownsguard to your location. What is the rate of growth at the moment so the medics can begin thinking of potential treatments before your arrival? _ ”

“I… I don’t know. I’ll send you some footage of it nextime it grows?”

_ “That will work.” _

* * *

2:15 A.M.

Cor was prepared for a lot of different calls. Calls about missions, calls about Niflheim invading, even (and he dreaded this one) calls about the King. 

He was not prepared for a call from Monica, saying one of the Kingsglaive appeared to be suffering an intensely negative reaction to Lucian magic, and then to receive footage of Nyx Ulric’s arm looking like the man had just put on the Ring of Lucii.

“When did this start,” he demanded, racing through yet another red light. His Crownsguard were welcome to catch him if they could. 

“ _ Sometime before two, _ ” Monica answered. “ _ Sir Ostium has been keeping me updated. It appears to grow several inches every ten to fifteen minutes. It’s almost to his elbow, and showing no signs of stopping. _ ”

“It wouldn’t,” Cor growled, though there was confusion now with the worry. The Ring of Lucii should be with Regis at all times. More than that, it didn’t inch its way through its victims. It  _ devoured them _ , within minutes usually, unless they were of the line of Lucis. It made no sense, at least not to Cor. 

But then, Cor wasn’t of the line of Lucis.

“I’m on my way. I’m closer than any Crownsguard you could dispatch anyway. Let me know if Sir Ostium reports any changes.”

“ _ Understood, Marshall. _ ”

Cor quickly hung up on Monica and pushed his car faster. Even going at the insane speeds he was going, it still took him ten minutes to get to the rather decrepit apartment building that, apparently, Ulric called home. It only took minutes to get up to Ulric’s apartment, though it felt like it took longer, with Ulric’s screams echoing down every hall. He ignored the gossiping crowds, shoving his way through to the door marked with Ulric’s apartment number, yanking the door open and slamming it shut behind him in a few crisp movements.

“Marshall.” Libertus Ostium barely spared him a glance before focusing back on his friend. “It’s just stopped growing again.”

“I heard,” Cor replied dryly, examining the scene before him. Crowe Altius’ hands were almost blue with the ice magic she was channelling, one pressed against Ulric’s forehead, the other around his left wrist, which was wrapped in what looked like a shirt. Fine, cracking, glowing lines crawled up Ulric’s arm past where the shirt covered him, and Cor grimaced at the burning smell that permeated the apartment. “Ostium, get another shirt wet so we can wrap that arm up some more before we haul him down to the car,” he ordered, moving to get a closer look.

If this was what Lucian magic looked like slowly devouring someone, he preferred the faster method he’d previously witnessed. That, at least, didn’t cause this much suffering.

“Altius, lay off on the ice magic for now. The doctors are going to want an accurate temperature.” Altius looked almost mutinous, but slowly pulled her hands away, accepting the shirt from Ostium and wrapping it further around Ulric’s arm. Once she was done, he reached for Ulric’s good arm. “Let’s get him to the car before it starts growing again. No point in waking up the whole street.”

Getting Ulric out of the building turned out to be easier said than done. Cor and Ostium had to each sling one of his arms over their shoulders, all but dragging the man. Altius moved ahead, clearing them a path through curious onlookers, though none of them retreated far. Whispers followed them all the way down, and Cor almost lost Ulric’s pained groan among them.

“Why would they do this to me…?”

“Who’s ‘they’ Ulric,” Cor demanded quietly as they reached the ground floor. Ulric didn’t seem to hear him, instead mumbling something about ‘staying away from fire’, before coughing suddenly, breath stuttering hard enough to cause him to buck in Cor’s hold. 

“Shit,” snarled Ostium, re-adjusting his hold. “He’s hallucinated before, but that’s new.”

“Get in the back with him,” Cor snapped as they slid Ulric through the door Altius had opened. “Altius, front passenger seat. When that thing starts growing again, time how long it goes, and then time how long it is between growth spurts. I want accurate times to give the Citadel doctors.” They both slid into their assigned seats once Ulric was settled, and Cor hopped into the driver's seat. “And both of you keep it down for a bit. I need to call an expert.”

“An expert?” Altius sounded incredulous as Cor jammed the keys into the ignition. “Who would be an expert on runaway Lucian magic other than -”

“Call: Regis,” Cor snapped as the car purred to life. The dial tone rang four times before switching to voicemail, and Cor jammed the hang up button even as he made a sharp turn onto the main road. “On silent probably. Damn…” He made it out onto the main highway before snapping, “Call: Regis, emergency.” This time the dial tone only rang twice before his King answered.

“ _ Cor? What is it? Is Niflheim invading? _ ” 

“Not unless they’re invading through causing Lucian magic to run rampant through one of your Glaives, no,” Cor ground out.

“ _ What, _ ” Regis demanded, the urgency leaching out of his voice. “ _ Cor, what on Eos is that supposed to mean - _ ”

Ulric took that opportunity to start screaming again. 

“ _ Who, _ ” Regis said, voice deceptively calm over the phone, “ _ is that, Cor? _ ”

“Sir Nyx Ulric, your Majesty. He’s experiencing what I can only describe as a reaction to having worn the Ring of Lucii.”

“ _ Cor, that’s not possible. I’m looking at the Ring right now. _ ”

“I didn’t say it made sense, your Majesty. I’m bringing Ulric into the Citadel as we speak. Doctors are already aware of our impending arrival.” 

“ _ I’ll be there when you arrive. _ ”

“Appreciated, your Majesty.” Cor let Regis hang up, pressing harder on the accelerator as Ulric’s cries reached a fever pitch before tapering off. “Time.” 

“Three and a half minutes,” Altius replied. 

“Good. We’ll be at the Citadel in fifteen minutes at this speed.”

“He’ll be in another spasm by then,” Altius ground out.

“Sir,” Ostium interrupted before Cor could do something stupid, like suggest that Altius drive instead. “What happens when you put on the Ring of Lucii?”

“For the line of Lucis? A boost to their magic. For you and me…” Cor tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“You die.”

* * *

2:48 A.M.

Cor strode in behind the doctors, eyes on Ulric’s bound form on the gurney in case the Glaive started screaming again. He barely even glanced over as Regis stepped out of the elevator, cataloguing the rumpled clothes and missing knee brace in the scant second he took. “Regis,” he said, accepting one of the cans of Ebony the King had in hand and cracking it open in time with Regis.

Regis took a second to sip at his Ebony, before fixating his eyes on the gurney in front of them. “How is he doing?”

Cor grunted and slugged back his own Ebony. “The burns have almost reached his shoulder by now,” he said after gulping down his caffeine. “They grow every ten and a half minutes at this point - Sir Altius reports that they were coming in shorter bursts when this first started, so it appears to be slowing down. The downside is that the growth rate is increasing the higher on his arm it’s getting. The doctors are debating removing his arm, but I doubt they’ll have time to prep him before the next growth takes the burns into his torso. He’s also running a fever, hallucinating, and struggles to breath whenever he tries to talk to us.”

“Mmph,” Regis hummed, sipping at his Ebony in thought. “And you are certain that it is as if he put on the Ring? Normally the offender would be devoured by now.”

“Kind of hard to forget watching a grown man be burned alive because of a tiny piece of jewelry,” Cor groused. “Speaking of, you know where it is currently?”

“In my pocket, where else?”

“Just making sure, your Majesty.” They stepped inside the room that the doctors wheeled Ulric into just as one of the nurses began unwrapping his arm.

“Oh gods!” she yelped, jerking her hands away from the rather gruesome burns on the man’s arm.

“Don’t touch that unless you want to be treated tonight, too,” Cor ordered, stepping forward and turning his gaze over to Altius. “Speaking of, Altius, head over to another room to get that hand of yours treated.”

“But…” Altius gripped her phone tighter, and her eyes darted between Cor and Ulric. One of the nurses carefully pried the phone out of her grip and handed it off to another, before ushering her out of the room. Altius twisted around to look at Ulric one more time before the door closed. 

“That,” Regis said, taking a step forward to examine the burns for himself, “is definitely Lucian magic running rampant. Though where such magic is coming from, I cannot say. He’s not drawing on  _ mine… _ ”

Suddenly, the nurse with Altius’ phone called out, “Approaching ten minutes thirty seconds!”, just as Ulric’s muscles all began tensing. This time, Cor was able to feel the barest edge of magic surging forward as it began to burn its way into Ulric’s body, ears ringing from the scream the Glaive let out as it crawled up his shoulder and into the more sensitive pectoral and underarm areas. He heard the doctor and nurses call out various instructions - I.V., pulse readings, heart under strain - but his attention was on his King. 

His King, who was looking very pale, one hand resting over the pocket where Cor could only assume lay the Ring of Lucii. 

Suddenly, Regis turned away, moving towards the door as fast as his bad leg would let him. Cor followed, sparing a glance to notice Ostium had placed himself as sentry outside the door, and appeared to be attempting to glare holes in the opposite wall.

“Your Majesty,” Cor called.

“I need an empty room,” was Regis’ curt reply. Then, almost as an afterthought, “Preferably one where I won’t be overheard. I need answers.”

“Answers to what,” Cor asked, still trailing after his King. “I felt him draw on your magic -”

“He didn’t draw on  _ my _ magic, Cor,” Regis snapped, rounding a corner and shoving open a door to an unoccupied room. “He isn’t even attached to  _ my _ magic anymore!”

“Then where is it coming from?” Cor asked, already suspecting, and dreading, the answer.

Regis pulled the damnable, innocent looking piece of jewelry out of his pocket.

“He’s drawing magic directly from the Ring.”


	3. The Price of Loyalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter a bit early, in honor of it being May 16th, the day of the treaty signing in Kingsglaive!

2:51 A.M.

“What,” Regis snarled without preamble as soon as he slipped on the Ring, “are you doing to my Glaive?”

“ **Don’t be so obtuse, boy,** ” was the Tall’s airy reply. “ **Surely you have noticed by now that your pet is no longer ‘your’ Glaive.** ” 

“ **But that brings us right back to the problem, does it not,** ” snapped the Rogue.  “ **We can’t very well stand for -** ”

“ **Then you take it up with them,** ” challenged another. “ **I’ll have no part of denying-** ”

“ **That’s neither here, nor there! How can he be both -** ”

“Enough!” Regis demanded, interrupting the Old Kings arguments. “Why are you doing this to him? He’s done nothing!”

“ **He came to us,** ” came the low boom of the Mystic King above all the others. “ **He came seeking strength, not power. Not for himself, or those he loved, but for all.** ” A shadow suddenly appeared sprawled at Regis’ feet, the Ring of Lucii glowing on their finger - Ulric, but… older, more tired and battleworn. An echo of words -  _ My life is nothing. Giving the future to those who want to see it… is everything.  _ \- as the shadow almost seemed to stare Regis down, as though challenging him to the reality that simply could not have been. “ **He was judged, and weighed, and measured, and found... worthy.** ” The shadow began to fade, crumbling away like ash - as though Ulric were being devoured by flame from the inside out. “ **A price was demanded. And a price was paid.** ” The last wisps of what had been the shadow of Nyx Ulric vanished, leaving in their wake the words  _ You guys drive a hard bargain _ . _ Where do I sign? _ to echo through the silence.

“How,” Regis demanded. “He’s never worn the Ring! How can this be?”

“ **Interference,** ” came the reply of the Just, looking quite disgruntled. “ **Our price was paid and claimed, and others saw fit to return it. But they cannot undo it.** ”

“What do you mean?”

“ **She means he is ours, dear boy,** ” said the Conqueror. “ **He has touched our Magic, spoken to the Kings of Old, and been deemed worthy of both. His very soul is scarred, branded by our blessing. He belongs to the line of Lucis now.** ”

“He is a person,” Regis snarled, taking a step forward. “You cannot claim him as if he were property!”

“ **And why not? We have claimed nothing that was not offered willingly,** ” replied the Mystic. “ **He is ours. If he survives, use him well.** ”

And with that, the Old Kings retreated, leaving Regis alone with a heavy heart, and heavier thoughts. He slipped the Ring off his finger, and stared unseeingly at the far wall for a minute, contemplating what he was just told. It was impossible, there was no opportunity for Ulric to have put on the Ring, and the only price a non-Lucis Caelum could give to wield the abilities that the Ring granted was a life. There was no logical way for Ulric to have already paid that price, much less have it returned, as the Just claimed it to be.

And yet, his most promising Glaive was suffering from an overload of Lucis Caelum magic as he contemplated the issue. It was mind boggling.

Cor cleared his throat. “What did they say?”

Regis sighed and shook his head, slipping the Ring back into his inner pocket. He turned and regarded Cor for a moment. “They said that he belongs to the line of Lucis Caelum, now. What he is suffering is their Claim,” Regis said. Cor didn’t need to know just how impossible what the Old King’s imparted to Regis was, not until he figured out what it all meant. In the meantime... “Come, we should return to Sir Ulric’s room. Not even the King’s are certain of his survival at present.”

* * *

“ **_He cannot return to the Beyond._ ** ”

One hundred and twelve Kings of Lucis all objected together and Bahamut resisted the urge to silence them like particularly petulant children. Even those that did not wish for Ulric to die and for the price of using the Ring of Lucii to be returned were convinced that the Astrals gift of a second life would prove too destabilizing to the Prophecy of Light, and that it would be better for everyone, including Ulric himself, if the man returned to the Beyond.

“ **His very presence could corrupt the Prophecy!** ”

“ **We cannot risk Eos on a whim, not even the whim of an Astral!** ”

“ **Has the boy not suffered enough? Why can he not rest?** ”

“ **You cannot just bring a soul back from the dead!** ”

“ **_Silence!_ ** ”

As one, one hundred and twelve voices ceased. Bahamut fought against both glaring at the Kings and pinching the bridge of his nose. “ **_This is out of your hands. The boy has been sent back, with our blessing. I suggest you get over your issues with this and find a way for Ulric to remain amongst the living._ ** ”

“ **Even if we accept this - and I’m not saying we should,** ” argued the Conqueror, “ **We cannot simply ignore the price that was paid. The Ring believes it has been offered a life, and a life it intends to claim.** ” 

“ **The life of one not of the Line of Lucis.** ”

One hundred and eleven heads all turned to stare at the Mystic King, first of their line.

“ **You cannot be serious,** ” said the Rogue after several beats of silence. “ **It has never worked.** ”

“ **Perhaps because the conditions could never be met. To bind him to our magic, his soul cannot remain in the mortal plain. And before now, unbound souls returned to the Beyond without question. Yet now, for the first time since the Accursed, the Astrals refuse a soul their final rest.** ”

The Just rubbed at the chin of her helmet in contemplation. “ **While that holds true, Somnus, there is no guarantee that this soul shall continue to return from death. The risk of him turning into a daemon, despite being free of the Starscourge…** ”

“ **_Shall be no problem_ ** ,” Bahamut intoned, gaining the Kings’ attentions once more. “ **_It is I who granted your line this magic, and I who sent this soul to the past. I shall ensure his soul remains in one piece while you work._ ** ”

* * *

He was burning. 

**Do not struggle so. You only make this harder.**

Not just his arm, but his  _ soul _ , the very essence of who he was, slowly consumed by an unnatural,  _ hungry _ kind of fire.

**Foolish boy. Did he think he would not still carry the cost of the price?**

He felt stretched thin, like he was in two places at once. Every time he opened his eyes, he saw double, two worlds stacked on top of each other unevenly. 

**… has a loyal heart, and has somehow already paid our price! Can we not…**

**It is not up to us.**

Shadows drifted in front of him. Faces he knew mingled with regal armor. He lay sprawled at their feet. And somehow he knew he’d been here before.

**Rest easy. You are ours.**

Oblivion was finally creeping into him, offering sweet respite.

**We look after what is ours.**

* * *

5:30 A.M.

Cor woke to the sound of door hinges squeaking faintly as Pelna Khara slid into the hospital waiting room, tray of coffee in hand. Altius, who had been madly texting away on Ostium’s phone for the past two hours, made a sound that could only be described as pure relief at the sight of her fellow Glaive. Or the coffee. Probably the coffee. 

“Thought you weren’t coming in today,” she mumbled as Khara handed her one of the large cups. “You didn’t answer.” 

“Didn’t think you and Libertus needed another worry wart, what with you keeping half the Glaive up last night with updates,” Khara replied before approaching Cor. “Marshall. Didn’t know what you’d want, so I just got house black.” As he handed over the cup, Khara muttered, “Thank you, for staying with them. They kind of feed off each other, when they’re upset.”

Cor nodded as he took the cup, saying nothing to indicate that Khara said a word other than what he wanted Altius to hear.

Khara moved on and gave Ostium’s leg a light kick, which had the man rearing up in his chair. “I’m up, I’m up! Is he -” His shoulders sagged as Khara shook his head, offering the tray of coffee almost as an apology. “Thanks, Pelna. You didn’t have to…”

Khara shrugged, before moving to sit next to Altius with his own drink. “With the kind of night you guys have had? I’ll take the hit for splurging.”

Cor frowned thoughtfully. While the coffee was good, it wasn’t  _ expensive _ coffee.

Khara continued as if what he said was absolutely normal and just the way the world worked. “What’s the story, anyway? Crowe said it was a bad reaction to the King’s magic, but… Nyx took to it really well, didn’t he?”

“Better than any of us,” Ostium agreed with a sigh. 

“No one knows why this is happening,” Altius growled, glaring at her coffee. “We don’t know. None of the Glaives know. The doctors don’t know. The King doesn’t even know why this is happening, and it’s his own fucking magic -” She stopped herself, taking a swig of her coffee. 

“He’ll pull through,” Khara tried to reassure her. “It’s Nyx. He’s got to pull through.”

“You didn’t see it, Pelna,” Ostium said quietly. “It’s… it’s bad.”

Before any further conversation could evolve from the trio of Glaive’s, the doctor in charge of Ulric’s case stepped out of the room. As one, all three Glaives scramble to their feet. “How is he, Doctor?” Altius asked, her grip on her cup of coffee tight.

The doctor gave a grim smile. “He’s stable, now. You three may go see him, just stay out of the way of the nurses until they leave.”

After the three Glaives had left to see Ulric, Cor turned his stare on the doctor. “How is he, really,” he asked quietly. The woman sighed, rubbing at her temples.

“The scars have stopped growing, though they still flare from time to time. They cover his left arm entirely, cross most of his chest and upper back, and go up both sides of his neck onto his face. How the scaring will affect his mobility is questionable, given that this is  _ magical _ scaring we’re dealing with. He still has a high fever, and continues to have bouts of what I assume are hallucinations, likely compounded by his pre-existing PTSD.” She glanced back at Ulric’s door, as though to make sure none of the Glaives had returned. “The biggest concern right now is his heart. He went into cardiac arrest three times. We almost lost him, the last time.” She shrugged. “Other than that? He’s stable, for now. We’re doing everything we can to keep him that way. Everything else is up to him, now.”

* * *

6:00 A.M.

Clarus Amicitia entered the Citadel in high spirits. He’d had a wonderful night with his children. Gladiolus was excited to finally meet his young Prince, though slightly put out he would have to wait another month. Still, Clarus found his son’s good mood and determination infectious, and he was determined that nothing would ruin his morning.

All that went up in smoke as soon as he saw Regis’ secretary.

Madeline was a woman with nerves of steel and a spine of mythril. She had been personally trained by Cor, and planted as a not-so-subtle second bodyguard when Regis had chased off his previous three secretaries. Within a month of her arrival, she had tamed the chaos of the Kings office, organized the mountain of backlogged paperwork, and had Regis fondly calling her a tyrannical wyvern, to which the woman had only responded by smiling politely and handing over Regis’ daily schedule, which had been ruthlessly planned down to the minute. She was not, in any way, a woman prone to nervousness, or anxiety, or indecision of any kind. 

Which made it very odd to see her hesitating before the King’s office door, stack of paperwork in hand, and concern etched into every line of her body.

“Madeline,” Clarus greeted. She jumped and turned a wide eyed look to Clarus. Something was definitely off. “Is something wrong?”

“Not… as such, Lord Amicitia,” Madeline answered hesitantly. “It’s just…” She glanced around before lowering her voice, “The King is in his office.”

Clarus blinked. Checked the time on the clock on Madeline’s desk. Checked the time on his phone. Blinked again. 

It wasn’t possible. Regis loved his sleep. The Lucis Caelum's as a whole loved their sleep. It was utterly inconceivable that Regis would be anywhere near his office before his typically allocated time of 7:30 A.M. 

Something was wrong.

“He’s just arrived?”

“No, Lord Amicitia. I came in a bit early, just after five, because I’m still catching up on my backlog from when I had the flu, and His Majesty was already here.” She lowered her voice again. “He’d already finished the backlog from yesterday. He asked if I had  _ more paperwork for him _ .”

Something was horrifically wrong.

“I’ll check on him.” He gave the papers in Madeline’s hands a sharp glance. “I’m sure those can wait for a while?”

“Of course, Lord Amicitia.”

Clarus eased open the door, stepping in before letting it fall shut behind him. Sure enough, there sat his King, signing and stamping paperwork in a rhythm that meant he had been at it for hours already. Yet, despite this oddity in their schedule, this wasn’t what threw Clarus off. It was the coffee mug.

It was a simple thing, a mug with ‘#1 DAD’ written on the front that Noctis had gotten his father one year, and that never failed to make Regis ridiculously happy. The King refused to actually use it, lest it get stained or faded, and so it was relegated to holding pens on a corner of the King’s desk.

Only now, the pens were scattered across the desk, and the mug was upside-down, as though it were being used to trap something unsavory beneath.

“Good morning, Clarus,” Regis called without breaking his flow of signing, stamping, and depositing the papers into the basket that Madeline would eventually take them from. 

“My King,” Clarus answered respectfully, though he still eyed Regis with caution. “Is everything well?”

“Of course Clarus. Why ever wouldn’t it be?” Sign, stamp, basket.

“You’re early,” Clarus finally prompted. Regis was never  _ early _ . Regis was on time, always, as a King should be, but he was never  _ early _ unless matters were dire. Regis hesitated a second before grabbing the next sheaf of papers, flipping through them.

“I was woken early,” He finally replied. Sign, stamp, basket. Reach for next paper. “Cor called me. On the emergency line.”

Clarus stiffened. “What is it? Is Niflheim invading?”

Regis laughed, though to Clarus it sounded bitter. “Don’t be ridiculous, Clarus. If Niflheim were invading, we would be having this conversation in the war room.” Sign, stamp, basket. “No, there was a… problem with one of my Glaives last night that required my personal attention. I found I could not sleep again afterwards, and so made myself useful.” Sign, stamp, basket.

“A problem,” Clarus said slowly. “With a Kingsglaive. That had Cor calling you. On the  _ emergency line _ .” Numerous worst-case scenarios flitted through Clarus’ mind, chiefest among them treason. But no, that couldn’t be it. Cor was not in the habit of waiting for Regis’ blessing to act. Cor struck, and it was assumed that his strike was for the good of the Crown. If it had been treason, Cor would have simply killed the offending Glaive, and Regis would not have found out until sometime late in the day, when no one could find the Immortal because the man had wandered off in search of every last trail the traitor had left. 

So it wasn’t treason. But then, what was it? Finally at a loss, Clarus sighed. “And what was the problem that the Immortal could neither solve on his own, nor wait for the  _ day _ to have  _ you _ solve?” 

Sign. Stamp. Basket. “The Old Kings,” Regis began, his voice tight with controlled anger, “in their  _ infinite wisdom _ ,” sign, stamp, basket, “have seen fit to lay claim to Sir Nyx Ulric. He was admitted to the Citadel hospital ward last night, suffering from an overload of Lucis magic. Magic that was being drawn not from myself, but from the Ring of Lucii.”

That made even less sense than Cor the Immortal waiting for the King’s permission to smite a traitor. “That’s not possible. The Ring is with you at all times. How could the Old Kings have done this without Ulric wearing the Ring?  _ Why _ would they do this?”

“They have not been inclined to share their thoughts with me. All they will say is that ‘He is ours.’ I’m giving them a chance to think about what they’ve done before I ask again.”

Sign. Stamp. Basket.

Clarus felt a dawning horror. “Regis,” he said patiently. “Where is the Ring?”

Regis broke his pattern just enough to aim a jabbing motion at the upturned coffee cup. “In time-out.”

Clarus groaned in despair, because his King was, apparently, forever twelve when his temper flared. “Regis Lucis Caelum, please tell me you did not put the Ring of Lucii, and therefore one hundred and twelve of your ancestors, under a coffee cup.”

“They wouldn’t give me a straight answer, nor would they be silent.” Sign, stamp, basket. “They can come out when they’re ready to speak sense.”

“Regis, this is hardly the time to be childish.”

“Tell that to them.”

Deciding that this would not be a battle he would be winning, Clarus changed tactics. “When did Cor call you?”

“Shortly before three this morning.”

“Right.” Clarus turned and opened the door. “Madeline, can you clear the King’s schedule up at all?” 

“I’ve already done so, Lord Amicitia,” the woman replied, typing away at her computer. “With the paperwork His Majesty has completed already, the morning meetings can be moved to the afternoon, barring emergencies of course. Though the Council is requesting that you sit in on the morning’s session regardless of the King’s absence.” 

“Understood. Tell them I’ll be there.” He closed the door again, and turned back to his King who was glaring at him. “Don’t give me that look. You’re exhausted, and in no mood to be dealing with the Court right now.” And then, quieter, “You need your rest, my King.”

Regis’ temper abated in the face of genuine concern. “Oh... very well,” he sighed, setting his pen down. “Though I doubt how much rest I shall be able to get, with this worry hanging over my thoughts.” He then glared at the mug again and poked at it with a finger. “Quiet, you lot.”

“Which is why you won’t be alone,” Clarus said before turning his gaze over to the couch. “Noctis, come out here.”

Clarus watched as the tiny form of the Prince slipped out from behind the couch, yawning widely and rubbing at one eye. “How’d you know, Uncle Clarus?” the Prince sleepily asked.

A small smile twitched at the corner of Clarus’ eye. “Never you mind, that,” he said, eyeing Regis’s guiltily horrified look. “Why don’t you go drag your father off for a nap, it appears that both of you need it. I’ll ensure Madeline pushes your morning lessons into this afternoon.”

Noctis perked up at that. He made his way around Regis’ desk as the King sighed and rose, swiftly lifting the coffee cup and scooping the Ring of Lucii into a pocket. Soon both Father and Son were shuffled out of the office, calling their goodbye’s to Madeline as they made their way to the elevator that would take them back to the Royal Suits. 

* * *

Regis sighed as the elevator doors slid closed, leaning back to against the cool wall to take some of his weight off of his bad leg. He would have to remember to put his brace on, before resuming his duties, or Clarus would have a fit of madness and call Wesk.

“Is your Glaive going to be okay?”

Regis looked down at his son, who was sleepily rubbing at his eyes with one hand, and stubbornly clinging to Regis with the other. He felt a pang of guilt again. After leaving Sir Ulric in the capable hands of the Citadel’s doctors, Regis had gone to check on his son. It was more for his own comfort than anything, slipping into Noctis’ room without a sound and sitting beside his bed. He hadn’t anticipated his son waking. He certainly hadn’t expected Noctis to stay awake and follow him to his office.

“We don’t know yet, Noct.” He sighed. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. You should have told me you were there, you could have at least slept on the couch.”

Noctis shook his head. “I was worried about you. You looked upset, and then I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I went to wake up Iggy, only he threw a pillow at me and said it was too early, and I thought something must be wrong, ‘cause Iggy never thinks it’s too early to wake up. I thought maybe you had a nightmare, but then you weren’t in your room, and…” His son shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just wanted to check on you.”

Regis smiled sadly, giving Noctis’ hand a gentle squeeze. “I appreciate it, Noctis. But next time? Let me know.”

“Okay.”

The elevator continued up, and Noctis yawned. “What happened to your Glaive? Do I know them,” Noctis asked, leaning into Regis’ side slightly. 

“No, I expect that you don’t know him. His name is Nyx Ulric. He… had a poor reaction to the magic, something we’ve never seen before.”

“I’ve heard about him,” Noctis mumbled as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. “At least I think I did. Some of the Glaives were talking about someone named Ulric a while ago, at least.”

“Really? And what did they say,” Regis asked curiously as they stepped into Noctis’ room. 

“One of ‘em was mad because Nyx’d done something he wasn’t supposed to on a mission. They said he should be punished for not doing what he was told.” Noctis kicked off his shoes and hopped into bed, scooting over to give Regis room. “Another one kept calling him ‘Hero’. And he said that Nyx saved people, so he shouldn’t get punished.”

Regis slid off his shoes and climbed onto the bed after his son, Noctis promptly snuggling into his side. “And who do you think was right,” he asked quietly. Noctis hummed tiredly, eyes already drooping.

“The one that called him a Hero.” Noctis yawned again, clearly struggling to stay awake. “Can I go see him? After our nap?”

“Of course Noct.”


	4. Waiting for Dawn

Crowe slumped into the Kingsglaive break room right behind Libertus and Pelna, the sleepless night weighing heavy on her shoulders. Their trio gained some weird looks, since their shift didn’t start for another five hours, at least, but honestly Crowe didn’t give a flying fuck. Instead, she trudged over to the coffee machine and poured herself a mug of the sludge they were forced to call coffee in the Glaive. She needed caffeine, damn it, and at least the sludge was better than nothing.

She wandered over to the table that Pelna and Libertus commandeered at the same time as Tredd. She took a deep drink of her coffee sludge while eyeing the red haired asshole as he took an almost exaggerated look at the three of them. “You three are here early. Where’s Ulric? Our great and reckless Hero hasn’t called in sick, has he?” Crowe knew something bad would happen as soon as Tredd opened his stupid mouth while wearing that cocky grin.

She hated that she was right.

She barely managed to grab Libertus as the man snarled and  _ lunged _ for Tredd. Crowe spit Galahdan curses as Libertus fought against hers and Pelna’s hold, mostly because her coffee fell to the ground and spilled all over her boots. “Not helping, Tredd!” she ground out, glaring at the surprised Glaive.

Tredd took a few steps back and held up his hands. “Whoa, I was joking, Libs!”

“Terrible timing for a joke, Furia,” Libertus growled. “Especially since Nyx is  _ in the fucking hospital right now! _ ”

“Attention!”

Every Glaive in the room stopped what they were doing and snapped to attention. There in the doorway stood their captain, Drautos carefully examining the situation as he stepped inside. Crowe subtly elbowed Libertus, who was still growling and glaring at Tredd instead of paying Drautos any attention.

“Sir Ostium, what is the issue?” Drautos questioned, his voice as even and hard as ever.

Crowe gritted her teeth as Libertus sucked in a breath and finally turned to the Captain. “Nyx woke up last night screaming bloody murder while having a horrific reaction to Lucian magic. According to the Marshall, it looked like he had put on the Ring of Lucii. He’s currently in the Citadel hospital, sir,” Libertus succinctly said. “The doctors could give you a better idea of his injuries, but his heart gave out three times last night, and he’s covered in scars of magical origin.” The break room was silent enough that Crowe could literally hear Libertus swallow harshly. “They’re not certain if he’ll make it. He’s stable, but it can change at a moments notice.”

“Understood. I’ll look into it.” The Captain looked over the rest of the Glaives, stopping once his gaze returned to their trio. “I know it’s difficult, when one of our own is out of commission. Especially when it’s one thought as highly of as Sir Ulric. But we all have duties we cannot put aside. Focus on those duties for the time being. I’ll leave an official report on the forum as soon as I have spoken with the doctors.”

Crowe joined the rest of the Glaive’s in saluting their Captain. “Understood, sir,” they chorused.

Drautos nodded and turned on his heel, striding out of the break room.

Silence reigned for several seconds, before Celso Bellum, who Nyx literally risked his own life to save from dying at the hands of an MT Assassin just four days before, stepped forward. “Nyx is going to be okay... right?” he asked, sounding as lost as Crowe felt. Then again, Crowe and Celso are the youngest Glaives as it stood, so it made sense that they’d be the most lost in this sort of situation.

Pelna sighed and shrugged. “We hope so, Cel. We hope so.”

* * *

“And we’re absolutely certain he had no opportunity to come into contact with the Ring?”

If Clarus asked that one more time, Cor was going to strangle the man. “None,” he snapped, “and if you want to go further back in the security archives, then be my guest. Ulric has never touched the Ring of Lucii. The only intimate contact he’s ever had with Lucian magic was his bond with the King. All we have to go on is that his connection to Regis has spontaneously vanished, and been replaced with a connection to the Ring.”

They were making their way to the Citadel hospital ward to check on the man in question. Cor doubted Ulric would be awake, but Clarus wanted to see the extent of the damage for himself. And if by some miracle Ulric was awake already, then he was the only one who might be able to give them answers about what happened last night.

“You’ve looked through Sir Ulric’s profile. How well did he accept the magic?”

“By all accounts he took to Regis’ magic like a duck to water. Even Drautos was impressed.” It was almost an understatement. Ulric took to Lucian magic like he’d had it all his life, from what Cor had seen and heard. His skill with warping put even senior Glaives to shame, and his pull on the King’s magic was best described as faint. By all accounts, he was a natural, and was well on the way to being one of the elite Kingsglaive’s, if he could curb his attitude towards authority. 

“Is there any way he could be related to the Royal family?”

“Nothing shows up on his background checks. If there’s any relation to the Lucis Caelum’s, it’s likely  _ very _ distant.” Cor glanced over to the approaching footsteps and offered Drautos a nod of acknowledgement. “I take it Ostium, Altius, and Khara explained the situation, Captain?”

“The basics,” Drautos stated. “Ulric’s in the hospital with a negative reaction to Lucian magic, with no known cause as to how it started. I’m here to get some details so my Glaive’s don’t get too distracted with their worry, both with what has occurred to Ulric and nerves over the same thing occurring to them.”

“This is likely an isolated case,” Cor said.

“All the more reason to have it confirmed.”

The doctor was, unsurprisingly, not pleased with people coming into her domain to view one of her patients while they were still recovering. “I don’t know what your expecting, Captain, Lord Amicitia,” she sighed as she led them to Ulric’s room. “Sir Ulric has remained mostly unconscious since he was brought in, and the few bouts of wakefulness he’s had have not been lucid. He’s in no position to tell you anymore than I can, and I can tell you very little without more information from him. The King confirmed the reaction to be that of an individual who has worn the Ring of Lucii, if a very unusual reaction. Sir Ulric had several near brushes with death when his heart gave out from stress of what his body was enduring. Sir Ulric has not perished, and is in fact slowly stabilizing. He has extensive magical scarring he will carry for the rest of his life. It is likely an isolated incident, though again, I cannot confirm that without information from Sir Ulric about how this happened in the first place.”

“We would still like to see him, Doctor,” Clarus said, arms crossed, and Cor scoffed. The Citadel doctors had to put up with  _ Regis _ . There was no way they were intimidated by the King’s Shield.   


The doctor leveled a truly spectacular unimpressed glare at the Shield before sliding open the door to Ulric’s room, gesturing for Clarus and Drautos to enter. Cor leaned against the wall, pulling out his phone. He’d seen plenty of Ulric’s scars - he didn’t need a reminder. 

He’d made it through three of his waiting emails, when the screaming started. 

His phone was back in his pocket and he was forcing the door open in a heartbeat. He froze upon seeing what was happening inside.

Ulric was straining against his restraints  _ and _ a number of nurses, yelling something in a language that Cor couldn’t place, all while various machines sparked and broke from the flaring magic Cor practically felt slicing through the air. The interesting, and confusing, thing was that he was lunging for Drautos, almost like he wanted at his Captain’s throat, with murder very clearly written in his eyes.

Cor let himself be manhandled to the side as Drautos fled the room, and stepped back as Clarus was then forced out once more by the doctors. Silence reigned amongst the three men for a minute as they all processed what just occurred. Finally, Cor commented, “Well. He didn’t have  _ that _ reaction last night.” He slid a glance over to the shaken Drautos. “What sparked it, you think? He was pretty dead set on getting at you.”

Drautos was slow to answer, as if asking that question to himself. “I don’t know. Perhaps he was merely hallucinating, or something similar.”

Cor hummed as he turned his gaze back to the closed door, musing over the one other thing he noticed when he saw Ulric.

His eyes were too focused and clear for a hallucination. He might not have reacted to anyone else in that room, but he was lucid enough to know exactly who he was trying to get at.

So what had Drautos done to deserve that reaction from one of his Glaive’s?

* * *

_ He was too late. He remembers. He remembers royal blood on the floor, a hollow, taunting voice, he remembers - _

“He’s one of my best. I’d like to know how I can prevent it from happening again.”

His eyes flew open, and Nyx saw  _ red. _

_ “ _ **_Traitor,_ ** _ ” _ he snarled at Drautos,  _ at Glauca _ , lunged for him,but found himself restrained, determined to  _ rip out his throat -  _

“ **_Worse than a traitor! A traitor would first be loyal! I’d shear off your braids if you had any, you honorless - Don’t you dare run from me! Coward!_ ** ”

Electricity popped and glass broke, and he doesn’t hear it. Hands hold him down, there’s something stabbing him in the neck, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. Couldn’t they see?! He had to get up, had to finish what was started - 

He’s swallowed up by unconsciousness between one thought and the next, and Glauca -  _ Drautos _ escaped.

* * *

Drautos finished making the rather limited post regarding Ulric’s condition to the Kingsglaive forum, as he had promised his men, and made sure to add that the doctors would allow one or two visitors into the room at a time, and only if they were quiet and stayed out of the way. He sat back once his piece was posted and rubbed at his forehead. Nothing made sense. The injuries Ulric received were definitely caused by Lucian magic, and yet no one had any clue as to how it happened, just the effects of it.

Drautos secretly flipped the switch that would begin looping footage of him on the security cameras and clicked away at his computer, opening a document so he could compile a potential report on the situation. After all, it wasn’t every day that a Kingsglaive had such a negative reaction to Lucian magic that it mimicked the Ring of Lucii.

So how had this come to be? Loath Cor the Immortal he may, but the man had a point - Ulric had never come into contact with the Ring of Lucii. An adverse reaction to Regis’ magic was also out - Ulric had taken to it far to well. And yet, Drautos suspected that both had played some part. Something was missing, some crucial piece of the puzzle. Amicitia could be to something with his suggestion that Ulric was somehow related to the Line of Lucis. 

The most curious part of it all was the fact that the magic had  _ stopped _ . Lucian magic was not known for its forgiving nature. The effects of the Ring of Lucii were well documented, and the Old Kings did not take well to trespassers. So if the Ring was involved, then why had they allowed Ulric to survive?

Too many questions and not enough answers. 

Then there was Ulric’s rather…  _ adverse _ reaction to Drautos’s presence. He had enough murderous rage locked deeply away to recognize it in another, and Ulric had without a doubt been filled with it while yelling at Drautos. Ulric truly wanted to kill him. Either that, or, as Drautos only minorly suspected, he might have thought Drautos were someone else. Though who that might have been was up in the air at this point.

And what occurred to the electronics… Drautos knew enough about Lucian magic to know that those of the Line of Lucis could accidentally flare it under extreme stress or emotional outbursts, similarly to what occurred with Ulric back in the hospital, and that electronics and glass tend to go haywire whenever it happened. However no one in the Kingsglaive had displayed such an inclination, unless they were a natural mage before joining the organization like Altius and a few other black mages. Ulric definitely did not fall into that category, the man went through the same rigorous tests as all the others had for natural magic and had proven to not have an ounce. And yet as Ulric yelled at Drautos in a murderous, single-minded rage, electronics around the room had exploded.

What language had Ulric been speaking, anyways? Not Lucian, clearly. Not Galahdan either, he’d heard enough of that over the years to recognize it. Not Cavaughan, and certainly not Nielheim. He tested a few of the words, frowning when he couldn’t get the vowels to sound right. He made a note of the phonetics, resolving to find the language later. 

He tapped his fingers beside his keyboard, contemplating, before closing the document. Not enough. While possibly useful, it didn’t carry enough weight for a report from Glauca. He would wait.

Drautos was very good at waiting.

* * *

Noctis groaned as something cold and wet proded at his hand. He rolled away, sleepily thinking that it must be Carbuncle trying to wake him up to play. Only, the cold, wet thing followed him. Noctis opened his eyes to glare at his friend, only it wasn’t Carbuncle nudging at him.

“Umbra,” he said excitedly, climbing to the edge of the bed. He couldn’t believe Luna had gotten back to him so soon! He turned to shake his dad awake only - 

Only dad wasn’t there. 

Oh.

Noctis sighed, shoulders falling. It wasn’t too surprising, but… he’d still hoped dad would be there when he woke up. Umbra nudged his hand again, insistently, and Noctis shook his head. “You really want me to see what she sent me, huh,” he asked the dog, reaching around to remove the notebook from his collar. 

Only, it wasn’t the notebook this time. 

“What’s this,” Noctis wondered aloud as he pulled out two envelopes instead. Umbra yipped and pranced a little. One had his name, and the other dad’s. “Luna sent you with letters?” Umbra yipped again, spinning in a circle. “Ok. Let me give dad his.”

Finding his dad turned out to be easier than he thought it would be. Noctis spotted him leaving his own room, walking steadier now that he wore his knee brace. “Dad,” he called, grinning when he was spotted.  
“Noct, I didn’t expect to see you awake so soon. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t, Umbra did. He brought letters from Luna! See?” Noctis held up both their letters for dad’s inspection. “One’s for you, even!”

“Well, I suppose it would be remiss of us to not see what the Oracle has written us,” dad said pleasantly, taking his own letter from Noctis. “Why don’t you go get ready for the day and read yours? No doubt I have a great many things to do in my office.”

Noctis nodded and hurried back into his room. He tore open his letter as soon as the door closed behind him, and he eagerly read what Luna wrote.

_ Dear Noctis, _

_ I pray this finds you in good health. Things here in Tenebrae are stabilizing, for the most part. Ravus is gone most of the year, and I am confined to the manor much of the time, however Gentiana, Pryna, and Umbra are all willing to act as my eyes in the greater world…  _

* * *

_ To His Royal Majesty Regis Lucis Caelum, CXIII; _

__ _ I beg you to forgive my abruptness, but the purpose of this letter is most urgent. Some short time ago, I found myself temporarily incapacitated by a great disturbance from the Astrals. Something has woken every one of them; what, exactly I do not know at this time. Such an awakening should only herald a Covenant, and yet the Astrals do not speak to me. Gentiana assures me that you and Noctis have not come to harm, yet I find I cannot set aside my concerns, and so I write to you now. _

_ I fear for Eos. I fear what this sudden awakening heralds. I fear that the worst may have come to pass, and that the Accursed has broken free and walks Eos once more. I fear what may become of the Prophecy of Light. I fear for you, and for Noctis. _

_ I beg you to take care, and know that I will pray for your safety, and for Noctis’. _

__ __ __ __ __ _ May the Astrals guard you, _

__ __ __ __ __ _ Oracle Lunafreya nox Fleuret _

* * *

Ardyn did not often risk coming to Insomnia, but his curiosity got the better of him.

Something had  _ happened _ . Something he could only compare to the anointing of the Chosen King of Light. And yet, Bahamut already had his Champion. What cause could there be for another? And so Ardyn had assumed the most drab, unnoticeable form he had, and made his way towards the Citadel. 

At least, that was his intention, until he came within sight of the building. 

Bahamut’s presence was so thick, Ardyn could practically  _ taste it _ in the air. All of the considerable force of the King of the Astrals focus was on the Citadel, and he knew he would get no closer without being promptly blasted back to Angelgard. What on Eos could be going on? Not even the Chosen King of Light held Bahamut’s attention so.

Ardyn carefully slipped away, lest the Astral suddenly sense his presence. He would wait. Bahamut could not watch what held his attention so forever. Sooner or later, he would look away.

* * *

Noctis carefully pushed the door open, peeking in at the man resting on the hospital bed. He cringed at the harsh, sterile scent in the room, at the sight of large swaths of white bandages. His back throbbed in sympathy, but he pushed the door further open, determination in his heart and a small vase in his hands. 

He’d told his dad he would come visit the injured Glaive, and Iggy had said it was good manners to bring someone who was in the hospital a gift, usually flowers. So, after his nap with his dad, off he’d ran, in search of the only flowers that had made him feel better in Tenebrae. Iggy said Sylleblossoms didn’t work like that, that they weren’t magic, but Noctis was sure they would make the Glaive feel better. 

There was a small patch of the flowers that grew in the Royal Gardens. Noctis often found himself sneaking away to take a nap near them. Most of them weren’t blooming right now, but there were three small buds that had appeared just that morning. He’d snipped them carefully, then begged Iggy to help him find something to put them in, before losing his friend in the twisting corridors of the Citadel before he could be dragged off to his lessons. 

He shook his head to banish those thoughts away, and took a careful step inside the room. There wasn’t much besides the multiple machines attached to the Glaive on the bed, a chair pulled up to the side, and a small side table that already had a few items on it. Nothing like what Iggy said you were supposed to give someone in the hospital, but maybe it was just a culture thing. Most of the Glaive’s weren’t from Liede, after all.

Noctis walked over to the table and carefully set the vase near the back, behind all of the tiny rocks with weird looking letters etched into them and the few letters there were. He took a breath, and finally turned his gaze towards the Glaive.

There were a lot of bandages. More than Noctis had ever needed. They covered the Glaive’s arm, wound around his chest, and even went up onto his face. His skin looked pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked… tired. 

Noctis crept closer to the bed. “It’ll be okay,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “I was hurt too, not so long ago. I couldn’t even walk for a while. But I got better. And… I know you can too.” He reached out and gently patted the bandaged hand. “Get better, ok?”

There was no reply, though Noctis wasn’t sure what he was expecting. He made his way back out the door, and was almost out when he heard it. 

He half turned around, half expecting to see the Glaive sitting up, eyes open. Only nothing had changed. There was no indication the man had spoken. Nothing except what Noctis was sure he had heard.

He carefully closed the door and turned to leave, only to run right into Iggy. 

“Noctis Lucis Caelum,” Iggy hissed, his hair messed up and glasses slightly askew in the way that let Noctis know that his future retainer was  _ very _ stressed. “What did you think you were doing?! This could have waited until  _ after _ your lessons!”

“Sorry, Iggy,” Noctis mumbled, allowing his friend to lead him to the elevator that would take them back to the rest of the Citadel. They had made it down three floors before Noctis couldn’t take the silence anymore. “He got really hurt.”

Iggy sighed, looking sad. “It happens sometimes, Noct. The Kingsglaive, the Crownsguard… they’re warriors. They get hurt.”

“He’s going to be ok, right?”

“I suspect that the doctors are doing everything they can for him.”

They passed another two floors. “I think he woke up. He talked to me. But he seemed confused. I think he thought I was dad.”

“Really? What did he say?”

“‘As my King commands.’”

* * *

_ He’s lying amid rubble as the dawn broke. He’d succeeded, he’d won, and as the first rays of light stretch over the horizon, he felt the call of the Beyond. A price was demanded. And a price would be paid. _

_ It wasn’t a bad way to go, after all.  _

A tiny hand rested over his. 

_ He looked down and a flower was growing up through the rubble to twine around his fingers. _

There’s a voice, muffled and childish, but it calls to him. 

_ He stroked his thumb over shockingly blue petals, and he felt the call of the Beyond ebb.  _

“Get better, ok?”

_ He laughed. _

“As my King commands.”


	5. Frayed Edges

Three days.

Nyx had been in the hospital for three days now. Despite the magic abating, and his fever finally breaking, he still hadn’t woken up for any significant length of time, or been very present when he was awake. 

Libertus sighed as the elevator stopped on the hospital floor. Nyx wasn’t getting any  _ worse _ , but he didn’t seem to be getting any better, either. The doctors were trying to stay optimistic, but Libertus had overheard them. If Nyx didn’t start making some progress soon, the likelihood of him  _ never _ making any progress went up.

The thought turned his stomach.

He shook his head as he stepped inside Nyx’s hospital room. No, he couldn’t be thinking like that. Not while he’s checking in on Nyx. His eyes scan over the table in the room, lips quirking at the sight of so many get-well gifts, before they landed upon a vase of flowers.

Sylleblossom flowers, specifically.

Who the hell would have left those for Nyx? They’re expensive as shit!

Libertus sighed as he sat down in the chair, putting the thought out of his mind. If someone wanted to waste their money like that, who was he to judge? Instead, he reached out and carefully took hold of his best friend’s bandaged hand, feeling like he was almost holding glass in his hands instead of flesh and bone. 

“Hey, Nyx. It’s me.” No response, so he squeezed Nyx’s hand as much as he dared. “Crowe couldn’t come in with me today. Grandma needs her for something.” 

Silence, still. Libertus sighed, his head falling to hang between his shoulders. He didn’t think he could make it if Nyx never recovered. If only he’d just wake up...

“Wake up, Hero.”

He didn’t expect it to work. It hadn’t worked any other time. But this time… “Libs,” Nyx groaned, shifting his head like he was looking for him. Libertus reached forward, heart in his throat as he touched Nyx’s hair to tell him where he was. 

“Nyx?” No further response, but Nyx turned his head more towards him. “Hero?”

“Libs, what’r you doing here…”

Libertus felt light headed with relief. “Checking up on you, idiot.” Nyx was awake. Nyx was awake, and talking, and  _ making sense again _ , he was getting better -

“No… no, you can’t. You have to… have to protect her…” 

He forced out a laugh, though it was heavy and bitter. “You’re still hallucinating,” he said, more to himself than to Nyx. “Crowe can take care of herself.”

“Not… Crowe…”

Libertus felt as though someone had just kicked him in the chest. Nyx didn’t seem like he was hallucinating. He was responding like he was awake and aware. “Who then, Hero,” he asked, because he needed to know. Hallucination or not, his gut told him to listen to his best friend. “Who do I have to protect?”

“Lady… Lunafreya…”

Libertus stared as Nyx sunk back into unconsciousness. The Oracle? Why would Nyx be thinking Libs would be protecting the Oracle? He sighed and shook his head, letting Nyx go as he stood.

He came face-to-face with one of the nurses as he stepped out of Nyx’s room. “Any changes?” she asked, clearly seeing that something did happen while Libertus was in there.

He shrugged. “He woke up, but was still hallucinating.” He huffed slightly and shook his head, staring into the middle distance. “...he thought I was protecting the Oracle.”

* * *

_ He said he’d meet Libs at the canyon back home. He knew he wouldn’t make it. But Libs didn’t know that, and that was what mattered. Libs needed the hope.  _

_ I’m sorry, _ _ he thinks for the first time,  _ _ I’m sorry I didn’t make it.  _

“Wake up, Hero,” he heard. Libs. Libs wasn’t supposed to be here. Libs was supposed to be - 

“Libs,” he choked out, trying to force his eyes open and failing. He felt Libertus shift, a hand touching his hair. 

“Nyx? Hero?”

“Libs, what’r you doing here…” He had to know. He had to know why Libs was here and not with…

“Checking up on you, idiot.”

“No… no, you can’t. You have to… have to protect her…” 

Libs let out a choked sounding laugh. “You’re still hallucinating. Crowe can take care of herself.”

“Not… Crowe…” He needed to get this out. He could feel the sweet call of oblivion tugging him back to sleep, but he  _ had _ to make Libs understand…

“Who then, Hero? Who do I have to protect?”

“Lady… Lunafreya…”

Darkness took him before he could make Libertus understand.

* * *

Regis decided to take a break around midday, during his allotted lunch hour, to go visit his hospitalized Glaive. Sir Ulric had been at the forefront of his thoughts for some time now, and it had been a while since Regis had last checked in on him. The doctors still sent reports, of course, however he felt the urge to get out of his office and go check on Sir Ulric himself.

He spotted someone leaving Sir Ulric’s room as he arrived, and it was only because he had recently looked at those close to Sir Ulric that Regis even recognized the man. Sir Ostium, Sir Ulric’s emergency contact. He waited for Sir Ostium to finish consulting with a nearby nurse, before he approached. “Sir Ostium, how is Sir Ulric doing?”

Sir Ostium blinked for a second, before he realized who he was standing in front of. “Oh, your Majesty, apologies. Nyx is… well, he woke up, sort of, just now. Slipped back off immediately after, but he sounded somewhat in the moment at the time.”

Regis nodded. “That is a small relief at least. Though,” he hesitated for a second, before continuing, “it appears that whatever he said seems to weigh heavy on your thoughts.”

“I… suppose you could say that, your Majesty.” Regis raised an eyebrow at Sir Ostium’s hesitation. He saw Sir Ostium pause for a moment before continuing. “I understand if your not at liberty to say, your Majesty, but… was Nyx given a special assignment recently?”

Regis frowned. “Not to my knowledge, no. Is something the matter, Sir Ostium?”

The man shook his head, looking defeated. “No, it’s… probably nothing. Just another hallucination. He woke up for a bit but… he thought I was supposed to be protecting the Oracle. I thought, maybe, he was asking me to finish a mission you’d given him.” He bowed respectfully. “Sorry for taking up your time, your Majesty.”

“It is no trouble, Sir Ostium,” Regis reassured, even as his mind raced. It could not be a coincidence. The Oracle had risked contacting him, and now Nyx spoke of her needing protection. Sir Ostium slid the door closed behind him, and Regis sighed, looking sadly at Nyx.

“What burdens do you now carry, Sir Ulric?” Regis hesitated a moment, before adding, “And are they in any way my fault?”

“Worry not, O King.” Regis looked up to see Gentiana standing before him. It had been some time since the Messenger had sought him out, and her presence without the Oracle was unusual, to say the least. “Nyx Ulric’s trials are not of your making.”

“Do you know how this has come to pass?” he asked. “How the Old Kings could have done this? If it might be undone?”

Gentiana shook her head, and Regis felt his heart sink. “Nyx Ulric’s path is set. What has been given cannot be so callously returned.” Nyx suddenly let out a sound, and Gentiana reached over and lay a hand against his shoulder, causing him to calm. “What he bears now is the price and prize of his devotion - to Lucis, to the King of Light, and to you, O King.”

“I don’t understand,” Regis sighed in frustration. “I have not asked this of him. Would not have asked this of him!”

“You did not ask this of him, O King,” came Gentiana’s gentle reassurance. “Nyx Ulric gave of himself willingly.”

They remained in silence for some time. “When will he wake?” Regis finally asked. 

“When he understands. When his mind has settled once more.” Gentiana’s enigmatic smile did nothing to calm Regis’s nerves. “Worry not, O King. There will still be more trials ahead once Nyx Ulric’s current ones are complete. And his devotion shall be his reward, in time.” Between one blink and the next, Gentiana disappeared, just as suddenly as she arrived.

Regis sighed in annoyance and resignation. As cryptic as always. However, he did take heart in the fact that Gentiana seemed completely certain that Nyx would awaken.

He just wished her certainty came with a date attached to it.

* * *

Libertus stared at the order that just got sent to his phone and seriously wondered if his Captain had lost his mind. Anyone with eyes knew that, until the doctors said that Nyx would either be alright or dead, Libertus was going to be a fucking mess that should stay off the front lines. Yes, he’s known of these orders for weeks now, this mission had been specifically tailored for his specific abilities, it was why he’d been stuck on Citadel duty until it was time for the mission to start.

Except who the hell could have predicted what happened with Nyx?

No one, not even the King, apparently.

So now, he was facing being sent out to the front lines the very next day, with his best friend in the hospital, and no idea how he’s going to get out of this mess. Because he had to. There’s no way he’d be able to handle the stresses of a mission right now, not with his head firmly stuck in a never-ending circle of worry over Nyx that only gets worse every time the younger man wakes up caught in those scarily lucid hallucinations he’d been having.

All right. What are his options? He doubted that the Captain would actually try to get him out of the mission, no matter that practically everyone knows Libertus is in the worst headspace right now, so that avenue was out. He could mimic Nyx and be as insubordinate as is physically possible, but he didn’t have the time to build it all up and get him stuck on further Citadel duty. Being Nyx-levels of insubordinate right out of the gate would be as suspicious as a friendly daemon, so that option was definitely out. Maybe get into a fight in public with one of the other Glaives? Sure, they’d know why he was doing it, but if he worded it like a full-on brawl, they might go along with it.

Then again, maybe not. After all, he’d have to get the other Glaive to agree to go down with him for Citadel duty, and practically the entire Glaive hates Citadel duty.

It was honestly looking like he’d have to go on this mission anyways, no matter what his headspace was like. Great, he was going to get his comrades killed because his head wasn’t where it was supposed to be out in the field. He shoved his hands into his pockets and glared down at the floor as he trudged through the corridors.

This was just his luck, wasn’t it?

Libertus was two corridors away from the Glaive breakroom when he heard, “Oi, Ostium!” He barely held in a groan and turned a caustic look at Tredd. The red head jogged closer, a shark grin on his face that did not match with the concerned look in his eyes. Quiet enough to not carry far, Tredd said, “Punch me in the face.”

Libertus’s eyebrows furrowed together. “What?” he breathed out.

“Look,” Tredd muttered, “Drautos is going to be coming around that corner any second now. You don’t want to go on a mission with Ulric laid out like he is. No one else wants you to go out on a mission with your head where it is. And everyone knows you want to deck me for what I said when this shit started. I’m only going to give you one chance.” He backed up a step and raised his voice to carry through the hall, catching the attention of a couple of passing Crownsguard. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

Libertus grinned, all teeth, quietly said, “I always hear ‘punch me in the face’ whenever you talk, asshole,” and slugged Tredd in his smirking face right as Drautos rounded the corner.

* * *

“I would ask what you two thought you would accomplish by brawling in the halls,” Drautos growled at the two men standing at attention before his desk. “But if you think I don’t already know, we have a problem. Ostium, I  _ was _ seeing to your removal from the mission line up, but since you two have taken that matter into your own hands, you are both on Babysitting Duty for the next month.”

He waited until he got a sharp “Yes, Sir!” from them both before continuing. 

“Ostium, you’ll be guarding the Prince.” He didn’t miss the flash of disappointment on Ostium’s face. Ostium may not like nobles, but he would do damn near anything for Ulric. Including guarding the King in Ulric’s absence. However, that meant such a position would be as far from a punishment as Drautos could possibly conceive. And since this was supposed to be punishment, he couldn’t allow Ostium Ulric’s usual position. However… “Furia, you’ll be taking Ulric’s usual position guarding the King.” Furia absolutely despised nobles, so any order where he had to guard one was seen as a punishment of the highest caliber. Drautos cut a sharp glance at Furia. “And when we get Ulric back, you are to give him a report to see if you upheld the duty to his standards.” 

He watched as Furia grimaced. The whole damn Citadel knew that Regis favored Ulric. Well, the whole Citadel except for Ulric himself. Between Furia’s hatred for nobles and the King’s preference for Ulric’s company, it was unlikely Furia would come even close to measuring up to Ulric’s standards, and he knew it.

“Sir,” Furia ground out, “does this mean I’m expected to converse with the King?”

“If the King deems you worthy of conversation in Ulric’s stead, yes.” He turned back to Ostium just in time to watch the man try to cover a snicker. “Now, on to the matter of your mission replacement -” 

A sudden banging at his office door cut Drautos off, and he wasn’t even given the chance to refuse the person entry before Altius threw it open. “Captain, sorry to interrupt,” she panted. Drautos frowned. “I need to borrow Libertus,” she continued before he could ask what she was doing. “It’s urgent.”

“How urgent, Altius?” Drautos said, eyes narrowing at the black mage.

Altius took a couple seconds to control her breathing, and said, “Nyx is about to get evicted because of the incident.”

* * *

“Luche, I swear to Titan, you are not getting his TV.”

“C’mon,” whined Luche as he helped Sonitius take the piece of electronics off the wall. “It’s a nice TV!”

“Yeah, and if we leave it with you, he’ll never get it back,” Pelna replied, glaring daggers at his fellow Glaive. “Sonitius, you keep an eye on it.” He ignored Sonitius’ cheer and Luche’s pouting as he looked around Nyx’s apartment. He didn’t have much, just like everyone in the immigrant district. But everyone in the district was short on space, so everyone was taking in what they could in the hopes that Nyx would lose as little of his stuff as possible. He looked at the list he’d made on his phone and typed Sonitius’ name next to the TV. At least this way, Nyx would know where all his shit went. “Have we got all his clothes together?”

“All packed and ready for when Libertus gets here,” replied Eva Dane, one of the newer Glaives. “And I’ll be happy to have his desk stay at my apartment. Might even see if I can cut a deal with him to keep it. The one I’m putting up with now is shit.”

“No planning furniture-napping until he’s awake,” Pelna responded, even as he put her name down beside ‘Desk’.

“What should we do about his memorial?” Pelna looked up to see Devraj Raptis looking at the set up curiously. 

“We wait to move that until Libertus gets here,” he said, deflecting Raptis’ hand away from the memorial. “If anything happens to that, we’re all losing a finger, no matter who messed it up.” They all winced and Pelna took the opportunity to declare, “Luche, you get that chair.”

“Why  _ that  _ chair,” Luche complained, gazing despondently as the piece of furniture in question. “It’s awful.” 

“It’s his favorite chair. This way, you get both some leverage over him, and to deal with his whining if anything happens to it.” 

Luche flipped him off, but dutifully picked up the chair and began hauling it out of the apartment, Sonitius following behind with the TV. The remaining three glaives all turned to the one remaining unclaimed piece of furniture - Nyx’s bed.

“This is a travesty,” Eva finally declared. 

It really was. The damn thing was tying Pelna’s back in knots just looking at it. How did Nyx sleep like this? “We can’t let him keep it,” he finally agreed. “It’s not worth it.”

“We could burn it,” Devraj suggested. “It looks like the Lucian magic got a head start on that.” Sure enough, there were scorched patches on the bed where Pelna assumed Nyx’s arm had been. He flinched at the reminder of what his friend had been through - what he was still going through. Pelna hadn’t even been there at the start, but just looking at those scorch marks made his own arm start itching in sympathy.

Suddenly, Eva clapped her hands together. “Oh, I have a grand idea,” she declared, a wicked grin on her face. “I have a friend that owes me a favor or three. She could get this up to the Citadel, and we can put it up in the training room as a sacrifice to the new Baby Glaives!”

“So… both,” asked Devraj.

“Both.”

“Both is good.”

“What are you talking about?” 

Pelna turned as Libertus stepped into the apartment. “What we’re doing to the daemon masquerading as Nyx’s mattress.” He turned to fully look at Libertus. “We’re thinking of sacrificing it to the training of the Baby Glaives.”

Libertus shrugged. “It’s as good a death for it as any.”

“Hey, Libs, Grandma found a box for you,” Crowe said as she swept into the apartment. “Now where the fuck is my TV?”

“Had to give it to Sonitius to keep Luche from poaching it,” Pelna said apologetically.

“Fucking Luche,” Crowe growled as she handed the box over to Libertus. He began to pack away Nyx’s memorial as Crowe began ransacking the small kitchen area. “None of you assholes had better have touched his food.”

“The only one who did was your Grandmother,” Eva replied. “She let us in and took about half of it when she left.” 

“Yeah, well she didn’t find his stash,” Crowe said as she began digging through the few cabinets. “He’s hiding it in here somewhere, I know he is! He’s been holding it over my head for months!”

“You’d better not be talking about that cereal,” Libertus sighed as he finished packing the last of the memorial. 

“Of course I’m talking about the - Aha!” She suddenly lunged up, one foot on the countertop for leverage to reach the top shelf. “Over my head! Literally! That fucking asshole!” She jumped back to the ground holding a small box of the most sugary-looking cereal that Pelna had ever seen. “Probably waiting to give it to me for my birthday or some shit like that. Now, though, you beautiful sugary goodness, you are mine!”

Pelna rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the mad cackling Crowe was letting loose.

Libertus, however, was not as willing to just let it go. “Oh Shiva’s tits, of course it’s that cavity in a box that you’re addicted to,” he grumbled as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. 

Crowe stuck out her tongue. “This is limited edition cavity in a box, thank you very much. At least it’s not that tasteless old-man cereal you eat, old man.”

“Old - you know what, it’s not even worth it,” Libertus grumbled. “Has anyone seen that daemonic plush anywhere?”

“Right here.” Pelna held up the infamous Malboro-kun plush. “He’s been cheering us on.” He made Malboro-kun’s little arms wave. “‘Go team! Go team!’” Libertus snatched the plush out of his hands and stuffed him into the box with the memorial.

“Pelna, hand me the two boxes under the bed, will you? I’m taking those too.”

“Sure thing.” Pelna stood back as Eva and Devraj began maneuvering the mattress out of the apartment, revealing the two boxes in question. They didn’t look like they’d been opened, the tape still sealing them shut. “What’s in these, anyway?”

“All that he was able to save from home.”


	6. Waking

_ There was a box in his hands. It’s not his, should never have been his. He doesn’t want it. He has to keep it. He has to remember… _

“... can’t believe the Captain didn’t say anything. Libs shouldn’t be going anywhere, with you like this.”

He knew that voice. He knew it in joy, and rage, and  _ death- _

“Don’t worry, he’ll be here if you -  _ when _ you wake up. I’m heading out in his place.”

“No,” he gasped, because she can’t, she can’t leave again, he can’t fail to protect her  _ again _ \- 

“Easy, Hero.” Crowe should never sound so sad. “I don’t like it either. But Libs would be a mess out there. This is for the best.”

He couldn’t find the words. He had to make her  _ understand _ . “No, you- you can’t- daemons,” he finally choked out, and she just laughed. 

“I can handle a few daemons, Hero. Just focus on getting back to us. You don’t need to protect everyone, you know?”

Her voice drifted away, and Nyx knew she didn’t understand. He sobbed as the void of unconsciousness dragged him back under.

* * *

_ He’s back amid the rubble, the ruins of Insomnia still smoking around him in the dawn light, but this time the Beyond doesn’t call him. The blue flowers continue to grow around his fingers, curling protective and possessive against him.  _

“... and for the last time, Sylleblossems are not magic!”

“But he’s been getting better!”

_ The hand from before is back, twining among the flowers to hold on to him. Protective. Possessive. He looks down to see the first bloom break through the scars of his arm.  _

“Correlation does not equal causation!” 

“What?”

“Just because you’ve been bringing him the Sylleblossems does not mean they are responsible for his recovery. It’s more likely that his close connection to the King is helping him recover faster than another might.”

_ Another bloom bursts from his skin, and another. Something tells him he should be struggling, but all he can feel is relief.  _

“... Do you think if I spent more time with him, that would help?”

“He’s not bound to your magic, Noct. But… if you would like to try, we can work on your Homework while we’re here.”

_ The little hand squeezes his again. The Sylleblossems continue to grow up his arm, blue petals kissing against burning scars.  _

_ Nyx doesn’t need to struggle against this. _

_ He is wanted by his King. _

* * *

_ They were supposed to save the Oracle. Not turn on each other. Not betray their King. Blood makes the floor slick as Tredd stalks towards him. _

“You’ve really gotten yourself into some shit this time, huh Ulric?”

_ This wasn’t supposed to be how it went. Tredd swings at him, wild and aggressive, and the betrayal stings worse than the edge of his blade.  _

“I can’t believe I’m actually starting to understand what you respect so much in the King.”

_ His blade sinks deep and true, more blood welling up and splattering on the floor, and Tredd keeps staring at him with that damn cocky smirk like he isn’t bleeding out at Nyx’s feet. _

“So just wake up already, so I can go back to hating him.”

_ Tredd disappears in smoke and ash, leaving behind blood on the floor, on his blade, on his hands, flowing up the lines of the scars from the Ring, making them burn.  _

“That’s going to be the death of you,” Nyx rasps, and if Tredd responds, he doesn’t hear it over blood dripping on metal and the dull echo of his comrades body striking the floor that chases him into the darkness. 

* * *

_ The world was dying. _

“I wish I knew how this happened.”

_ The Oracle was dead.  _

“You can’t blame yourself, Regis. Whatever they’ve done, you couldn’t have stopped them.”

_ Darkness had come, without a dawn in sight.  _

“And yet, I find I have no one else to blame.”

_ The King would save them.  _

“They’ve not given you any further answer?”

_ The King of Light would come.  _

“No. Only the same cryptic nonsense as before.”

_ The Dawn would return with the King. _

“... He will live.”

_ And then the Dawn returned, but the King was dead. _

“But he will never be the same.”

_ The King was dead. Long live the King. _

* * *

**_“He is not yet strong enough.”_ **

Nyx flinched away from that voice. It burned and echoed in his mind, like staring into the sun for too long, like hearing a thousand blades unsheathed at once. 

**_“Oh please,”_ ** sniped another voice, and this one burned too, like wildfire and rage, but it soothed as well, a welcoming heat like a banked fire and a good meal.  **_“As soon as those Kings of yours realize what kind of connection they have to the boy, they’ll drive him mad anyways. Speaking to him now does no more harm than that.”_ **

A low rumble, like gravel under his boots and a distant landslide.  **_“Shiva, contain your husband.”_ **

Bright laughter, like sunlight glinting off facets of ice and the wind tossing snowflakes about, and low growl like a log cracking in a fireplace. 

**_“Ifrit is not wrong,”_ ** a voice like rolling thunder said.  **_“There are consequences the boy must be aware of. Already the world changes to accommodate him. Waiting too long could be disastrous.”_ **

**_“Yet too soon could undo everything he could accomplish,”_ ** snapped a voice like waves crashing against the shore in a storm.  **_“Bahamut is right. He must have time to find his place in the Mortal Plane once more. Let him seek us out. Then he will be prepared to hear.”_ **

* * *

_ He doesn’t recognize where he is.  _

_ It’s a Haven, but he can’t make out anything beyond the etched rock. One minute he thinks he sees a desert. And then there’s a forest stretching as far as he can see. And then, the Galahd Canyon, exactly as he remembers it. _

_ Footsteps draw his attention from the shifting landscape, and he blinks as a massive white Coeurl approaches where he sits. He panics, jumping to his feet, and the Coeurl throws its head back and -  _

_ Laughs. _

_ And suddenly, it’s not a Coeurl, but a man, with familiar features and braids, and a grin Nyx recognizes because he sees it every time he looks in the mirror.  _

_ The man steps closer, and gestures out beyond the edge of the Haven, which has changed again, and now shows a rocky beach. “Amazing, isn’t it? Any terrain you can imagine, any prey you could want. A real Hunter’s paradise.” He looks sad suddenly, and Nyx feels like it’s somehow his fault. “I wish I could have shown you. But you were so angry, at first. And now…” He shakes his head, and smiles at Nyx again. “I’m proud of you, you know that, right? Even if you hadn’t chosen this. Even if you had stayed. But if this is the path you choose to walk…” He reaches out and curls his hand at the back of Nyx’s head, pulling him close until their foreheads touch.  _

_ “I’m with you, son.”  _

* * *

He was alive.

He hadn’t thought it would work. He’d  _ wanted  _ it to work, but it actually did. He was alive, back in the past.  _ When _ , he didn’t know for sure, but that hardly mattered in the face of the fact that  _ he was alive again. _

He groaned as he forced his eyes open. Where was he, even? This wasn’t his apartment. It took a minute for him to realize the beeping he was hearing was coming in time with his heart. There was an I.V. drip in his arm, and the room reeked of sterility.  _ Hospital,  _ he realized, and frowned. He hardly ever went to the hospital. Had the Astrals dropped him back in the middle of a mission and caused him to mess up? No, that wasn’t right… 

He flexed his fingers and toes, taking stock of his own body. He felt like he’d been trampled by a Cateblopos, but everything seemed to be where it belonged and in working order. There were bandages all over his left side, though. What kind of injury… 

Oh. Right. The Ring of Lucii. 

Had the scars from wearing the Ring come back with him? Fuck, how was he supposed to explain that? The beeping of the heart monitor increased, and Nyx forced himself to calm down. He couldn’t have people coming in here and asking him questions when he didn’t even know how to answer them.

Just saying ‘I’ve lived this part of my life once, died, saw the end of the Prophecy of Light, and got so pissed off I backtalked the Astrals so they sent me back in time’ would probably get him nowhere. At best, no one would believe him. At worst, they would think he was insane. And besides, he thinks, Drautos’ face flashing in his mind, there were people who he couldn’t afford finding out about his… unique circumstances. 

But then, how was he supposed to go about changing things? He couldn’t tell anyone, he didn’t know when he was, and he was trapped in this hospital, likely because of the Ring of Lucii. He sighed in frustration, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. “A little more warning would have been appreciated,” he complained, before rolling his neck to loosen out some of the kinks. A bit of color caught his attention, drawing his gaze to the small table beside his bed. 

There’s a pile of rune-stones, most marked with signs for health and protection, and a stack of letters beside them, and he suspected those were from the Glaive’s. But what held Nyx’s attention was the vase of Sylleblossems. No Glaive would have brought him those. They were to rare outside of Tenebrae. The only one he could think of who would bring him Sylleblossems was…

A half formed memory of a flower growing out of rubble. A voice he knew, from so many stages of life, telling him to get better. His Prince. His King of Light. His reason for returning.

Suddenly, the door slid open quietly, and Libertus stepped in to his little sterile room. Oh fuck.  _ Libs.  _ His best friend. Libs was here, alive and well, if looking exhausted and sad. And he hadn’t seemed to notice that Nyx was awake. Nyx’s mouth was forming words before his brain could think better of it.

“You look like you’re going to a funeral. Who died?” 

Nyx managed a tired grin as Libertus damn near jumped a foot in the air before spinning around to look at him in wide-eyed shock. “Nyx,” he asked disbelievingly, and Nyx felt his grin widen just a fraction. 

“Sorry, buddy, but I’m still here.” 

And suddenly Libertus was at his side, touching his hair, his face, his shoulders, and Nyx basked in the attention of his best friend. He’d missed this. He’d missed  _ Libertus,  _ more than he ever thought he would. “Still here, Libs,” he reassured, and felt more than heard the laugh that his best friend managed to choke out. “Not going anywhere. I’m alive.”

He was alive.


	7. Time to Start Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know I haven't posted anything for two weeks now, and I just wanted to thank everyone for their patience. I had a family emergency come up, but everything is good now, so I should be back to posting regularly!
> 
> I also wanted to say that, even though I'm really bad at answering comments, I've appreciated each and every one! You guys are the best!

Nyx doesn’t get nearly as much time with Libertus as he would have liked.

One minute, Libs is pressing their foreheads together and their holding on to each other for dear life, the next, he’s pulling away. “Shit, hang on. Have to get the doc in here -”

“Libs, wait. I need to talk to you -”

“We can talk once the doctors have looked at you.”

“ _Libertus._ ” He grabs his best friend’s wrist in a death grip, and Libs freezes. “I _need_ to talk to you.” He watches conflicting emotions flit across Libertus’ face, and tries not to think about how much he looks like he did when Insomnia fell, when Nyx sent him away with the Oracle and a false promise. And he fails, when Libs looks back down at him with that same _look,_ the one he gave Nyx as he left, as he told him he’d be waiting for Nyx to fulfil that promise, even though they both knew he wouldn’t.

“Nyx, please. We’ll talk all you want later, just… let them look at you.”

Nyx sighed. Until he knew when he had landed, he had to assume he had time. “Fine. Just… stay?” He lets Libertus go when he agrees and within what feels like seconds of Libertus pressing the call button, a nurse sticks her head into his room.

“Sir Ostium? Is there a…” She trails off as she catches sight of Nyx, and he just smiles and waves as much as he can with one arm heavily bandaged, and the other hooked up to an IV. “I’ll go get the doctor,” she says in a rush, and she’s gone as quickly as she appeared.

A memory suddenly surfaces, and he glares at Libertus. “Wait. You’re supposed to be on mission.”

Libertus shrugged unrepentantly. “Babysitting duty. I punched Tredd in the face. Multiple times. In front of Drautos. In my defence, he offered.”

Nyx almost laughs bitterly, until he remembers that there was a time where Tredd would have done just that, for a fellow Glaive. That there had been a time when, despite being a complete asshole, being a _Kingsglaive_ had been important to Tredd as something other than a way to stay out of the gutter for one more day. When did that change?

… Did Nyx have a chance to stop it?

He hoped he did. If he remembered the mission Libertus was _supposed_ to be on correctly, then there should still be time to do damage control for the Kingsglaive. He’ll still need a date before he could properly start planning it.

The doctor stepped inside the room, quickly followed by the nurse that answered the call button initially, and stopped when she noticed Nyx was conscious. “Ah, Sir Ulric. You do look lucid, good. Apologies, however we are going to have to ask some basic questions normally reserved for concussion patients, just to make sure your cognitive functions are working properly.”

Nyx quirked his lips as the doctor came up to his side. “Not a problem, doc.”

“Good, now. Name, rank, and age?”

“Nyx Ulric, rookie Kingsglaive, 21,” he dutifully replied, surprising himself with the fact he didn’t have to think too hard about it. Yeah, he’ll have time to work on the Kingsglaive.

...wait. The little Prince, the daemon attack, the invasion of Tenebrae. Shit, he’s too late to stop them… Why would the Astrals send him back here? He’s too late to help the little Prince, and he’s too early to do anything about the fall of Insomnia!

“...Sir Ulric?”

Nyx blinked and his hospital room came back into focus. “Sorry.”

The doctor smiled kindly at him. “It’s alright. You’ve been through quite the ordeal, some disorientation is to be expected. I asked if you knew where you were?”

Nyx frowned. “The… hospital,” he said uncertainty.

“The Citadel Hospital, specifically. Can you tell me what you last remember, before waking up here?”

“I… I was in my apartment,” he said, closing his eyes as he struggled to sort the memories of his future from those of his present. “I was having trouble sleeping, and suddenly…” He moves the fingers on his left hand as much as the bandages will allow. “I don’t remember anything, after the pain started.”

“You don’t remember being brought to the Citadel at all? It was reported you had several lucid moments during transport…”

Nyx tried, but all he could remember was the sensation of being burned alive, and the shadows of future memories.

The doctor continued to ask him questions as the nurse moved around him, checking machines and drawing blood. Finally the doctor made a note on a tablet the nurse handed her. “You appear to have gotten lucky, Sir Ulric. You’ve suffered some memory loss, but frankly that’s the least of the current concerns. You have extensive magical scaring, which is likely to be permanent, and how it will affect your mobility is unknown. Your heart stopped three times while the scars were spreading. I want to keep you here for at least another few days, to make sure there aren’t any further complications. And I would hope this goes without saying in a hospital, but I must ask that you refrain from using the King’s magic in any capacity. We don’t know what triggered this episode, and until we do it’s too risky.”

“Yeah, no, I get that, doc,” Nyx said, even though he knew where the scars came from, though not why they came back with him. Were they attached to his soul or something? Sure, he had them in the Beyond, but he’d died with them, it wasn’t that surprising, really. Still, better to not touch magic for a bit until some certainty gets brought to light.

He sighed and let his head thump against the pillow as the doctor and nurse finally leave. He turned his gaze towards Libertus, and cut them back towards the still-open door. Now was the perfect chance, he could tell Libs and get this over with…

...except Libertus was sighing and stepping away from the corner he had been hovering in while the doctor and nurse were in the room. “Sorry, Nyx, shift’s gonna start soon. I’ll go tell the Glaive’s the good news, promise to come back later once today’s Babysitting duty’s over with.”

Nyx swallowed around the lump in his throat and forced a smile on his face. “Yeah, that- It can wait.”

He had plenty of time, now. Archeon’s craggy ass-crack, why was he dropped here of all times?

* * *

Pelna sighed and rolled his neck, glad to be off shift. Tensions had been running high in the Glaive for the past five days, what with them not knowing if Nyx was going to properly wake up or not. Half of the Glaive were already in mourning, the other half just waiting for Libertus to put the mourning braid in his hair to start their own process, and everyone had been walking on eggshells around those closest to Nyx. It was aggravating, and Pelna was so happy he got the next three days off from this shit.

Nearly getting run over by Libertus on the way into the barracks didn’t help his mood. Or anyone else’s, as every Glaive present in the barracks jumped like Drautos had stormed in when Libertus came to a screeching halt. Pelna felt a stab of dread, because at this point there could be only one reason Libertus was racing into the Glaive barracks, and that reason was Nyx. His brain began cranking out worst case scenarios, only to freeze as Libertus suddenly _laughed._

“He’s awake.”

Dead. Silence.

“What?” one of the other Glaive’s croaked out, her eyes wide and fixed on Libertus’s grinning form. Pelna honestly was in the same boat, along with every other Glaive in the room.

“He’s awake, Nyx is fucking awake and coherent, he’s gonna live, bitches!”

A couple beats pass, and sudden, helpless laughter bursts out of Pelna’s chest. A heavy weight that’s sat on his shoulders ever since he saw Crowe’s texts five days ago finally lifts, and he practically jumps onto Libertus, wrapping his arms around the other man’s neck and holding on for dear life as he just kept laughing.

* * *

**“He’s been adopted.”**

Regis jolted as he was abruptly pulled into the Ring, before glaring up at the armored form before him. “Father,” he said. “I’m not dead. Why are we speaking?”

Mors huffed and crossed his arms. **“We buried the hatchet, son.”**

“No, we buried the hatchet _on your deathbed_. There’s a difference.”

Much to his annoyance, Mors simply waved him off. **“Regardless. You want to know what happened to your Glaive, Ulric? Sender’s boy?”**

“Wait, he’s Sender’s son?”

Regis got the feeling that Mors was giving him a dead stare. **“Honestly, son, how have you not noticed, he is the spitting image of the man. We can speak of your lack of observational skills another time, however.”** Regis made sure to give Mors a very obvious bitch face as the man continued. **“Due to circumstances which have already been discussed-”**

“No, they haven’t been.”

**“Trust me, Regis, what Somnus showed you is as far of a hint as you’re liable to get. Anyways, thanks to those circumstances, a direct link to the Ring was created with the Ulric boy, thereby killing him. However, our family’s Patron in the Astral plains decided to bar him passage to the beyond, leaving us with no other choice but to bind the family magic to Ulric body and soul. He’s been adopted.”**

Regis blinked once. Twice. Shook his head. Blinked again. “Adopted,” he finally said, sounding far smaller than he would have liked. “You mean he is…?”

**“A Lucis Caelum. In every way that matters.”**

**“There he is!”**

Suddenly Regis found himself and the specter of his Father surrounded by a rather angry looking host of his Ancestors, most of whom were glaring daggers at Mors, who glared stubbornly back.

**“Mors, what have you done?!”**

**“What none of you would! Perhaps spending so many years in the Ring made you all oblivious to your mortal kin? We do not have the time to wait for my son to figure your riddles out on his own!”**

**“We swear, Mors, if he puts us back under that coffee cup -”**

Regis blinked and found himself back in his office, just as Cor stepped through the door. His Marshal must have read something in his expression, because Cor closed the door behind him and made himself comfortable in the chair before Regis’ desk without so much as a by-your-leave. “So,” Cor said. “Do they have anything new to say, or should I make my report first?”

Regis sighed and leaned back in his chair. “What news do you have for me?”

“Ulric is awake.”

* * *

Nyx sighed as another pair of Glaives said their goodbyes and slipped out of his room. Who knew that talking to visitors in the hospital could be so damn exhausting? Though he supposed the painkillers the doctor had given him when he’d mentioned his arm was hurting might have something to do with how tired he was. The painkillers also thankfully also gave him an excuse for hesitating when he saw some of the Glaives that had come to see him. Some of them had turned against the King. Some of them Nyx had been forced to kill with his own hands. Some of them had already been dead for _years_ before the fall of Insomnia, and seeing them walking around outside of the Beyond had Nyx second guessing what reality he was in.

They all took it in stride, at least. 

A soft knock had him looking back towards the door, and he felt another twist in reality hit him as Celso Bellum slipped into his room. Six, the last time he’d seen Celso alive, must have been… technically, it had been almost twenty years, but now it was just over a week ago he’d saved the kid from losing his head out on the field. Celso smiled shyly at him, oblivious to Nyx’s internal crisis. “Hey, Nyx,” he greeted as he stepped up to the edge of Nyx’s bed.

“Hey yourself,” Nyx replied, eyes instinctively scanning over Celso’s body to make sure he was okay, and letting his mouth run on autopilot. “You look good for someone who took on more MT Assassin’s than he could handle.”

Celso laughed. “Thanks to you. Um, Sonitius is out on mission still, but I was able to get a call through and tell him what you did. He said to say thanks. And that I now owe you one. And that I was an idiot. And -”

“Celso,” Nyx interrupted before the kid could work himself into a fit. “I appreciate it, but you don’t owe me. I would have saved anyone that ended up in that position.”

“Which is why I _do_ owe you,” Celso insisted earnestly.

Nyx shook his head. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that. What are you up to?”

“Not much. I was in the barracks prepping my gear when Libertus came in with the news that you were awake. I’m shipping out tomorrow. Scouting mission.”

Nyx froze as a rush of memories hit him. He knew this mission. He knew it, because Celso had never come back from this mission.

He had to change this.

“Double check your antidotes,” he said, and Celso nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve already -”

“No, Celso, I mean it. Double. Check. Your antidotes,” he insisted, and he knows he must be freaking the kid out, but he can’t let this happen again, and he can’t follow Celso to watch his back.

Celso blinked at him. “I… yeah, I’ll do that. Um, any reason why…?”

Nyx forced himself to relax. “Not really. Just… never know where a Marlboro will have set roots, right?”

That seemed to be enough for the kid to accept his sudden insistence. “Oh, yeah, the mission’s supposed to take us really close to Marlboro country,” Celso said, nodding along. “Yeah, I’ll do that, and make sure the others remember to do the same.” Nyx was so relieved that he vaguely recalled hearing about the mission before being dismissed from the last one, so no one would really look too closely except at how he remembered something so small in comparison to what happened to him.

He just hoped it would be enough.

* * *

**“What do you suppose this is?”**

**“We’re following it, aren’t we? What more do you want?”**

Nyx groaned as strange voices flitted through his head. Just when he’d been trying to get to sleep… He opened his eyes, only to frown in confusion when he didn’t see any of the nurses or doctors that had been in and out of his room all day, nor any of the Glaive.

**“It’s strange that this path should exist. I would have thought, after the Binding, his mind would not be connected.”**

**“It would go a long way to explaining why the process has never worked without the aid of the Astrals. The Ring’s magic is no small burden to bare, even for our line.”**

**“I still don’t think this is right. The boy suffered so much… it seems cruel of the Six to turn him out of the Beyond like this.”**

**“The choice is out of our hands. For good or ill, the boy is alive, and now we must deal with the consequences.”**

**“And what of the Prophecy? We know he knows the end, but we know not why the Astrals have sent him here. He could doom us all!”**

**“By that same logic, he could save us.”**

“I’m going crazy,” Nyx muttered as the voices continued, still without a person in sight. “The Six were right, this was too much and I’m going crazy.”

**“For all we know, this is a misguided act of charity. After all, how could the Six think that one man, one boy, could change the outcome of a Prophecy thousands of years in the making? It would have been kinder to keep him in the Beyond, and let him come to terms with what had come pass in his own time.”**

Nyx snarled at the ceiling. Crazy or not, he was not going to let these voices in his head get away with belittling his choice to try and save his King. “Fuck you. Every King of Lucis had a chance to change this, and none of them had the guts to do it! They stood around, waiting for a King of Light who would have no choice but to die for the ‘greater good’! No one thought to fight for him, so now it’s up to me!” Silence met his outburst, and he started to relax when…

**“Did he… hear us?”**

**“I do believe he did.”**

**“How? Even when speaking through the Ring, we must reach out first!”**

**“Perhaps this path works differently? Boy, blink twice if you can hear us.”**

“I have a name,” Nyx snapped before he could think better of it.

**“He can hear us!”**

**“So this is… his mind? And we can just enter whenever we please?”**

Nyx panicked. “No! No you damn well _may not_ just come into my head whenever you feel like it! Who are you, anyway?!”

**“Is it not obvious, boy? We were once Kings of Lucis.”**

Nyx’s panic spiked even higher. No. No, this couldn’t be right. The last time he’d spoken to the Old Kings, he’d been wearing the Ring of Lucii. They had tried to kill him, had succeeded at killing him at the dawn. Why were they in his head?

 **“Oh do relax, boy.”** Nyx found his body doing as commanded against his will. **“The family patron has said we are not to reclaim our price, and as much as I don’t personally agree, we have gone through the trouble of the Binding. Killing you now would only be a detriment.”**

“What binding,” Nyx demanded, even as his body refused to panic like it should. “What did you do to me?”

 **“Rest, dear boy.”** Nyx felt his eyelids grow heavy. **“You are in no danger from us. All will be clear in time.”**

The last thing Nyx was aware of as he drifted into oblivion was the voice of a final King. **“Fascinating. Perhaps we will have our answers from the boy after all.”**

* * *

It wasn’t possible.

And yet, it was the only way all of the pieces fit. The vision Somnus had given Regis of Sir Ulric wearing the Ring, the disappearance of his magical bond, the scars his Glaive would now bear for the rest of his life...

How Mors said that Sir Ulric had been adopted. How he said that there was no other choice but to bind Sir Ulric to the magic, and thus to their family.

_“He belongs to the Line of Lucis...”_

There was only one way to be sure – one way to know without a shadow of a doubt if his suspicions, however unlikely, were correct. He did not like it. One did not call upon the Six, upon the King of the Astrals himself, without dire need.

And yet, that is exactly what Regis found himself prepared to do, as he dismissed the Crownsguard set to guard the Crystal for the night. The Crystal pulsed with magic this close, a pulse echoed by the Ring Regis wore. It pressed against his skin, hummed within his bones, and for a few, blissful moments, Regis felt no pain from his leg, no creeping exhaustion from the pull on his magic.

And then things went slightly pear-shaped. For an Astral arrived from the Crystal...

**_“Speak quickly, Mortal. I have not my brethren’s patience for your kind.”_ **

...Just not the one he anticipated on arriving.

Leviathan was awake.

The _Tidemother_ was awake, and in Insomnia, and answering his silent request for an audience instead of Bahamut. He must be cautious, otherwise she may take her frustration out on the city. Regis bowed low, watching the shifting coils of Leviathan’s Astral form out of the corner of his eye. “Forgive me, Tidemother, I did not expect-“

 **_“Of course you didn’t, that much is obvious, Mortal,”_ ** Leviathan scoffed. **_“You expected Bahamut. Sadly for you, he is off doing his duty as King of the Astrals, however I can guess as to why you would approach him now. You are here about the boy.”_ **

Regis straightened carefully. “Yes. There was an incident a few days past, one with... an unexpected outcome. I was hoping-“

 **_“You were hoping to be given the answers on a silver platter after your Old Kings deigned to give you the clues to come to the obvious conclusion,”_ ** Leviathan snapped, her coils tightening around him. He stiffened, praying silently that she did not become too angered by whatever sleight he may have accidentally dealt her. **_“However, I shall humor you, for now. All that has come to be is by design. The boy lives by the will of us Six, returned from the Beyond and gifted to your line so that the King of Light might endure.”_ **

Regis felt himself slump. “So he has been adopted, fully, into my line,” he said, the hand that wore the Ring curling into a fist and temporarily ignoring the bit about being returned from the Beyond. “It is the only explanation for why the Ring stopped trying to claim his life. The Old Kings bound him to the family.”

**_“Yes. Bound through magic, and the will of us Six, he is now of your line by a bond greater than blood.”_ **

“But why?” he demanded. “Why Sir Ulric, of all people? How is he so different as to gain the attention of the Six in such a manner?”

 **_“Do not imply that you do not already know, Mortal, lest I leave you with more questions than answers. Bahamut does not favor idiots,”_ ** the Tidemother snarled, her coils flexing and shifting around Regis as if to strangle or crush him. **_“If you must hear it, then yes. The boy wore the Ring. The boy died. The boy witnessed the end of the Prophecy, and had the unmitigated gall to say it was not enough. And it is by the will of us Six that the boy was given a chance to do more than any Mortal before him, save the King of Light himself.”_ **

“Time travel,” Regis said weakly. “His soul is truly from the future?”

**_“Exactly. Now do be gone, Mortal. This conversation bores me.”_ **

And just as suddenly as she appeared, Leviathan disappeared, returning to the Crystal and leaving Regis to the revelations laid out before him.

...He would need to speak with Sir Ulric. Privately. Something must have truly gone wrong if Sir Ulric felt it necessary to demand that the Astrals change the outcome of the Prophecy.

Perhaps there was hope for Noctis after all. But until he got his answers, Regis would not stray from the path he set out on for his son.

Even if Noct may never thank him for it.


End file.
